


Angels of Mercy

by Maharani_Radha



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: DEA Agent!Reader, Eventual Romance, F/M, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Javier Peña is kinda creepy in this one, Let's see how this goes, Narco!Javier Peña, Romance, Slow Burn, Stalkerish Tendencies, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maharani_Radha/pseuds/Maharani_Radha
Summary: You knew that your life was going to be interesting when you moved to Colombia to try to take down a drug cartel. You just weren’t exactly prepared for how interesting it was going to get. But to be fair to you, “How to Ward off the Advances of a Narco 101” wasn’t exactly a class that was taught as part of your training to become a DEA agent.In which Javier Peña is on the other side of the law and decides that you are His Person.
Relationships: Javier Peña & Reader, Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You
Comments: 207
Kudos: 386





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this one came from. But I'm going to hell guys. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Also full disclosure: I am not fluent in Spanish, but I try. These translations are my own, with some help from grammar books because I still don't understand the subjunctive tense (??). Anyway, if you speak Spanish and notice some egregious errors, I apologize, please let me know, and I will fix it.

You knew that your life was going to be interesting when you moved to Colombia to try to take down a drug cartel. You just weren’t exactly prepared for _how_ interesting it was going to get. But to be fair to you, “How to Ward off the Advances of a Narco 101” wasn’t exactly a class that was taught as part of your training to become a DEA agent. And neither your partner nor your friends at Search Bloc knew how to handle the strange situation you had gotten yourself into.

Despite your insistence that this wasn’t your fault (and truly, it wasn’t), Ambassador Noonan was just one hospital trip away from carting your sorry ass back to the States for your own safety.

Thankfully, despite your meager, year-long tenure in Colombia thus far, Colonel Carrillo had decided he liked you. Between him and your partner, Steve Murphy, they had managed to convince the Ambassador that this rather unfortunate situation you’d found yourself in was actually a good thing and could be used to the DEA’s advantage. So of course you absolutely _had_ to stay in Colombia. There was no doubt about that.

The Ambassador eventually relented and allowed you stay in Colombia under the condition that you didn’t do anything stupid (and the definition of ‘stupid’ down here was rather broad). So that’s how you found yourself collapsing face-first onto your threadbare couch in your apartment, wondering if it was worth it to call and order a late-night pizza or heat up some frozen TV-dinner. However, your thoughts on your nightly dinner dilemma were interrupted by the shrill ringing of your landline. 

“Christ,” you groaned as you forced yourself to get off the couch and trudged over the phone. It was probably Carrillo calling about some lead that you would need to follow up on with immediate effect. You just wanted some _goddamn rest_.

But the universe had other plans for you.

“ _Buenas_ ,” you grumbled into the phone, willing that this call would go as quickly as possible.

“ _¡Hola querida! ¿_ _Cómo estuvo tu día_ _?_ ” **(Hello sweetheart! How was your day?)**

Fuck. You knew that voice, and it wasn’t Carrillo. No, it was worse.

Javier Peña.

The leader of the damn _Los Pepes_ Cartel that the DEA and friends were currently trying to take down.

Apparently somewhere in this entire process of coming to Colombia and joining the investigation, you’d caught his attention. And despite the fact that you were a DEA agent, he had apparently decided that he liked you.

A lot.

That slimy bastard would just not leave you alone.

“Peña,” you spit out with as much hostility as you could muster, “ _¿Qué diablos quieres, pendejo? No tengo el tiempo para tus juegos._ ” **(What the hell do you want, asshole? I don’t have time for your games)**

The resulting chuckle that you got made you want to smash your receiver to smithereens. But no, you couldn’t let Peña know that he got under your skin _quite_ that badly.

“ _Oye hermosa, me lastimas_ ,” he said smoothly, “ _¿_ _Es un crimen querer hablar con mi agente favorita_ _?”_ **(Oh beautiful, you wound me. Is it a crime to want to talk to my favorite agent?)**

“Probably,” you mumbled, your exhaustion causing you to switch to your native English.

Sadly, Peña had noticed the switch and decided to harass you further.

“The real crime is hearing you speak to me in English,” he said, no doubt smirking widely through the phone, “Our language sounds so beautiful coming from your lips, _querida_.”

Goddamn this suave asshole. Damn him straight to hell. If you weren’t a DEA agent, you wouldn’t hesitate to—

No.

No, no, no. Peña may be an unfairly handsome piece of shit, but that didn’t change the fact that he was, in fact, _a piece of shit_. And he ran one of the fastest growing drug cartels in Colombia.

Your job was to find this _hijo de puta_ and shoot him straight in the head. Which means, you were going to have to put up with his sweet-talking for the time being.

“I’m done with this conversation, Peña—”

“Please, _querida_ , I’ve told you to call me Javier!”

You rubbed your face in frustration. _This fucker_.

“—so please, _cállate cabrón_ _,_ and go do whatever it is you do _cuando no estás molestándome_ _._ ” **(Shut up asshole, and go do whatever it is you do when you’re not annoying me)**

“Ah, Spanish again. I must have an effect on you _mi—_ ”

“ _Goodnight_ , Peña,” you hissed, slamming the receiver.

Chewing on your lip, you slid down the wall until you were sitting on the floor and sighed deeply. His calls were becoming a weekly thing at this point. He just loved getting under your skin. How the asshole had gotten ahold of your phone number was a mystery you were still trying to solve. You had tried to get your number changed once it became apparent that calling you was going to be a regular thing, but Carrillo insisted that it wouldn’t make a difference. After all, he found your number once, he could find it again, right?

“He’ll make a mistake eventually—let his guard down too much,” Carrillo had reassured you after week three of these persistent calls, “He’ll let something slip and we’ll be able to nab him. So just...keep him occupied, _compañera_. Tell me whenever he calls, and record exactly what he says.” 

After a few minutes, you sighed and picked up the phone again, intending to call Carrillo. True to form, no matter the time of day or night (or even if he was at dinner with his poor wife), Carrillo picked up the phone after only two rings.

“ _Coronel Carrillo_ ,” he answered, sounding about as tired as you were.

“Carrillo, it’s me,” you responded.

“Agent, is everything ok?” he asked, no doubt furrowing his eyebrows. You only spoke to him in English if Murphy was around or you were truly _stressed_.

“I’m sorry to bother you. It’s Peña. He called me again, just now.”

Carrillo swore softly and you could hear blankets rustling in the background. No doubt you had just woke him up. You made a mental note to send over some flowers for his wife to apologize for bugging her and her husband so late at night.

“What did he want?” he asked.

You groaned, remembering your conversation with him.

“ _Nothing_. He just wanted to fuck with me.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Nothing useful.”

Carrillo sighed.

“I mean did he say anything to make you uncomfortable?”

You chuckled, darkly.

“Peña’s _existence_ makes me uncomfortable.”

Carrillo hummed. It was a dumb question and he knew it.

“It’s just that—,” you began, gnawing on your lip again, a nervous tic you had, “That’s the second time this week. This is getting ridiculous, _Horacio_ , I don’t know what to do.”

Carrillo’s breath hitched. You could count on one hand the number of times you had addressed him by his first name, and all those times were when you had been truly frazzled. The worst part was that there wasn’t anything particularly rattling about what Peña had said tonight (he’d certainly made worse comments in the past). It’s just that this entire situation was getting out of hand and you weren’t getting a whole lot of help.

“Are you safe?” Carrillo asked, “Do you feel safe staying there by yourself? Shall I come get you? You can stay in our guest room. It would be more comfortable than Murphy’s couch and we have armed guards outside the house.” 

“No, it’s ok, thank you,” you said, “I’m a big girl, I need to deal with this. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t need to deal with anything by yourself,” Carrillo assured you, “This is an unprecedented situation, and we will figure it out together. We will catch this _hijo de puta_ eventually, but I need you to just hang on. Don’t let him get to you. You are strong enough to withstand this. You _will_ get through it, I promise you.”

You let out a sigh of relief. During the time you’d been in Colombia, you and Carrillo had become good friends. Carrillo could be one cold bastard (he had to be) and was a tough nut to crack, but he always knew what to say to reassure you that everything would be fine. And you truly believed him.

“Yeah, yeah ok. You’re right,” you said, “I’ll try to get some sleep. I’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Good,” Carrillo responded.

“Just...thanks again, Carrillo. Seriously. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. I want to know every time he calls you, even if it’s late at night and he says nothing of importance. He’s a dangerous man, and we need to be one step ahead of him.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks again, Carrillo, have a good night. Give my best to your wife.”

“Of course, have a good night, Agent.”

You hung up the phone once more and stared into the darkness of the hallway leading to your bedroom. It was nearly midnight and you hadn’t eaten anything, but you had completely lost your appetite. Peña’s escapades unfortunately had that effect on you. So you trudged over to your bedroom, changing into a pair of sleep pants and an oversized t-shirt before collapsing on your bed.

It wasn’t long before you fell into a dreamless sleep.

.

.

.

.

.

Javier Peña propped his feet up on his desk and smirked as you aggressively hung up on him. He had been harassing you with his calls ever since he obtained your number four months ago, and said calls were now getting more frequent. He could tell that they were bothering you, frazzling you. It was only a matter of time before you snapped completely. He was looking forward to that moment with anticipation.

Javier took a sip from his whiskey and stared out the window, recalling the very first time he had seen you. And met you. You hadn’t recognized him immediately, but you’d figured it out very quickly afterwards. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that you weren’t like the other American DEA agents that were sent down here. They were all naïve and stupid—chock full of some misguided sense of patriotism that they were somehow serving their country by taking down the big, bad drug lords. When in reality, it was the Americans that kept people like Javier in business and the Colombians who suffered. It was all comical, really.

You weren’t like that. While you were new to the DEA, they hadn’t sent a rookie field agent. You’d had multiple years of experience serving your government in the Middle East. Any naivete you might have had had been very clearly knocked right out of you. Oh of course, you talked a big talk about how you were here in Colombia to help people and save both Colombia and the United States from the terrorism of the narcos.

Javier hadn’t known you long, but he knew you better than that. You weren’t here because you cared about people like Steve Murphy. Or because you were patriotic like Carrillo.

No. You were here for the chase. The action, and the thrill. You weren’t someone who was satisfied with a boring life and life in Colombia was far from boring. You were attracted to danger.

This was all part of the reason Javier was so taken with you.

Javier was first made aware of your existence about three months into your tenure as an agent. The investigation into the _Los Pepes_ Cartel was young—the country was still reeling from the death of Pablo Escobar and the destruction of the Medellín Cartel. Search Bloc and the DEA were still doing low-level raids of some of Pablo’s remaining labs and hideouts. Javier’s spies had been closely following Search Bloc’s movements and had spotted someone who stuck out like a sore thumb.

You. Being the only woman, of course.

“ _Patrón, hay una mujer en la DEA_ ,” **(There is a woman in the DEA)** one of Javier’s _sicarios_ , Antonio, had reported one day. Javier had merely raised an eyebrow and regarded the young man.

“ _¿_ _Qué mujer_ _?_ ” Javier asked. **(What woman?)**

“ _Una agente nueva_ _,_ ” Antonio responded, “ _Ella estuvo con Carrillo y Murphy durante la redada del último laboratorio de Escobar_.” **(A new agent. She was with Carrillo and Murphy during the raid of Escobar’s last remaining lab)**

Javier shrugged.

“ _Pues, ella no me importa. Si ella haga algo interesante, cuéntame_ _._ ” **(Well, I don’t care about her. If she does anything interesting, let me know)**

“ _Sí,_ _patrón_.”

Javier thought that would be the last he heard of you, but that was not the case. About two months later, the DEA and Search Bloc had fully shifted their resources into tracking down the _Los Pepes_ Cartel. At first Javier was not worried that they would get very far because unlike Escobar, Javier was perfectly content with staying in the shadows. Unfortunately the capture of one of his more high-level _sicarios_ , Enrique, a man known colloquially as _El Lobo_ , swiftly disabused him of that notion.

However the most interesting part about the whole operation was the fact that the person who made the actual arrest of _El Lobo_ was _you_. Although Javier was pretty pissed that a man of Enrique’s skills had been caught so easily, he found himself eagerly wondering _how_ you managed to take down the 6’3”, 240-pound beast—someone _easily_ twice your size.

According to one of Javier’s spies, during the shootout, _El Lobo_ dropped his weapon and ran through the streets of Bogotá—members of Search Bloc in hot pursuit. There were about five men running after him, Carrillo included, and they were about to lose him when you had thought of something clever. You broke off from the group and took a few winding back streets and had ended up directly in his path. You wasted no time in aiming your gun and firing, directly hitting the _sicario_ ’s knee and he quickly went down. But _El Lobo_ wasn’t a difficult capture for nothing. He had managed to stand up and lunge towards you, but you were faster than him, and you gave him a hard kick to the knee _that you had just shot_ and then another kick to his—well—nether regions. That was enough to have the seasoned _sicario_ on the ground screaming in pain, giving you the time to pin him down under your body and cuff him.

It had been quite a sight to behold, watching the smallest DEA agent take down one of Javier Peña’s most feared _sicarios_. Javier’s own men had trouble keeping the awe out of their voices as they related the tale to him. It was then that Javier knew that he had to figure out what your deal was. He ordered a few of his men to keep tabs on you and your movements. It was easier said than done, and he had yet to figure out where you lived because you, cleverly, never took the same route home twice.

However, everyone had habits. Javier knew this, and soon enough his spies found out that you frequented a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant that served fantastic _empanadas_ and cheap beer. So one Friday night, Javier joined his spies and followed you himself to this restaurant, sitting down in a booth that was close enough where he could observe you but far enough away that he wouldn’t draw any suspicion.

Javier didn’t really know what to expect when he first saw you, but you being _hot as hell_ was certainly not it. You hadn’t done anything special to your appearance (seeing as you had nobody to impress)—you were dressed in some, admittedly tight-fitting, dark jeans, a t-shirt, and a windbreaker. Nothing fancy or sexy by anybody’s standards but Javier found you absolutely alluring. You were clearly trying your hardest not to call any attention to yourself, but unfortunately for you, you’d failed miserably in that respect.

If you had been a normal woman, he would have gone up to you, given you a few charming smiles, invited you back home, and rocked your world. But alas, you were a DEA agent, and he would have to tread carefully. Javier spent a few minutes prevaricating over what he should do before mumbling, “ah what the hell,” and downing his beer. He was going to go over and talk to you. If you did end up recognizing him (and chances were you wouldn’t, he was very careful about keeping his face hidden from the police), you’d undoubtedly try to arrest him, but you wouldn’t get very far considering how many men he had stationed in and outside the restaurant. If you didn’t recognize him, well, then he was potentially on the verge of a _very_ pleasant evening.

So he wandered over to you, plopped himself in the seat right across from you, and flashed you one of his trademark Peña smiles, relishing in your shocked expression at his bold actions.

“ _Hola, chiquita_ _,_ ” Javier said, grinning. You blinked at him, and narrowed your eyes slightly.

“ _Buenas_ ,” you said suspiciously, “ _¿_ _Cómo le puedo ayudar a usted_ _?_ ” **(How can I help you?)**

Javier felt a shiver run down a spine. Oh, _this one_ spoke Spanish, and not only that, she spoke it _well_. That was definitely not something that could be said about every American agent that made their way down to Colombia.

“ _Tengo_ _muchas cosas con las que me puedas ayudar_ ,” **(There are many things you can help me with)** Javier said smoothly, leaning slightly across the table towards you. He noticed that you leaned back away from him instinctively. He laughed internally. Were you _shy_? Or just immune to his charms? Either way, you were a challenge. This was going to be fun.

“ _Dudo que yo pueda ser muy útil, Señor_ _—?_ ” you said, asking for his name. **(I doubt I will be very useful, Mr—?)**

Javier straightened imperceptibly. Here was the moment of truth. Either you were going to recognize him or not.

“ _Peña. Javier Peña_. _Pero, por favor,_ _llámame_ _Javier_.” **(Please, call me Javier)**

If you did recognize him, you gave no hint of it. There was no glint in your eyes, shift of expression on your face, nothing for Javier to discern if you knew who he was. The only indication that you might have been suspicious was how quickly you seemed to want to leave his company after that (and he tried not think about how that bruised his ego).

“Javier,” you repeated quietly and he internally preened at hearing his name, “ _Mucho gusto,_ Javier _.”_ **(Nice to meet you, Javier)**

_“¿Y cómo te llamas, hermosa?”_ **(And what’s your name, beautiful?)** Javier asked. You gave him your first name and he repeated it a few times, as though testing it out before smiling again. He was about to say something else but you interrupted.

_“Pues, no quiero ser maleducada pero está tarde y tengo que trabajar mañana. Sería una buena idea si yo fuera a casa._ ” **(I don’t want to be rude but it’s late, and I have to work tomorrow. It would be a good idea if I went home)**

Javier was definitely disappointed, but if you wanted to leave, he was hardly going to stop you.

“ _Qué pena, hermosa. Es necesario descansar, por supuesto. Entonces, ¿tienes un esfero_ _?_ ” **(That’s a shame, beautiful. Of course, it’s necessary to rest. Anyway, do you have a pen?)**

You blinked for a moment at his strange question before rummaging around your purse and producing a simple, black pen. Javier eagerly took it and grabbed a napkin from the counter, scribbling some numbers.

“ _Aquí es mi número. Por favor, llámame, cuando tengas tiempo_ ,” he said standing from his seat and winking at you, “ _Buena suerte con tu trabajo_ _._ ” **(Here’s my number. Please call me when you have the time. Good luck with your work.)**

And with that, Javier breezed out of the restaurant confident that he had made a lasting enough impression for you to actually take him up on his offer and call him.

But at the time, little did he know that after you had driven your winding route home that you picked up the phone and called Carrillo.

“Carrillo,” you said, voice cracking slightly, “I think I just met _the_ Javier Peña.”

Clearly Peña had underestimated you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have many chapters planned for this, but we'll see how it goes. Please do let me know what you think. 
> 
> I shouldn't be starting new stories, but I am. I guess we die like women.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This election is killing me, and I guess I'm writing fanfic as therapy. So here's my next offering in this series. Enjoy!

If Peña was a slimy bastard, then the head of the CIA in Colombia, Bill Stechner, was even slimier.

And Stechner wasn’t even _half_ as good looking as Peña.

Not that you would ever admit that.

_Ever_.

When you walked into the embassy that morning, dressed smartly and conservatively in your pant suit, you found yourself trapped in an elevator with none other than the ringleader of the Consortium of Idiots and Assholes himself. When you saw Stechner step into the elevator, you were about to turn straight around and take the stairs, but alas. You had been spotted and Stechner called your name, holding his hand in the elevator doorway to prevent it from closing.

“How are you this morning, sweetheart?” Stechner called, sounding awfully cheery for a Monday morning.

Sexist bastard.

You didn’t respond immediately, so unfortunately Stechner took that as a _carte blanche_ to continue talking your ears off.

“I’m just heading up to the office. Care to join me? I’ve got something I’d like to speak to you about.”

You sighed and resigned yourself to a long elevator ride with Stechner. Stepping inside the car, you pressed the button for your floor and turned, narrowing your eyes at Stechner.

“So,” you begin, “What could little ol’ me possibly offer the CIA?”

Stechner laughed, loudly and unpleasantly. It made your skin crawl.

“You’re funny, Agent. It’s why I like you so much,” he said.

The only thing worse, you decided, than being on Stechner’s shit list was being on his “like” list. You wondered what you needed to get on the former. Fuck a communist probably. That could be easily arranged.

“Anyway, it’s kind of a long story so how about you meet me in my office around, noon or so? I’ll have my secretary buy us lunch,” he said, grinning widely.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Knowing your luck, Stechner was trying to get into your pants. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he tried with the other women in the office. You could easily murder him with nothing but your bare hands, so at the very least, his advances towards you were subtler than usual. Smart move, if he wanted to keep his balls where they were.

But you’ll bite. The DEA hasn’t had a solid lead on _Los Pepes_ in a couple of weeks. You and Steve had picked up wind from a recorded conversation between _sicarios_ that some of Pablo’s former associates may be interested in collaborating with Peña. The two of you and Carrillo had spent a good week and a half going down that rabbit hole, and the Ochoa hideout you thought you had found ended up being a bust. So maybe the CIA might not be totally full of shit and could promise something interesting this time.

“Shall I bring Agent Murphy?”

If you were going down, you were bringing Steve with you. It was the blood pact that he unknowingly signed when he became your partner.

Stechner cleared his throat and the smirk on his face morphed into a more serious expression.

“No, there’s no need to bother him. I’m sure you’ll already relay whatever it is to him later. But what I have in mind calls for you and your expertise specifically.”

Uh.

Okay.

That was new.

Mercifully, the elevator dinged and the doors opened, indicating that you had arrived at your designated floor.

“All right Stechner, I’ll give you one hour to explain this scheme of yours to me. See you at noon,” you replied, striding out of the elevator.

“Looking forward to it, Agent!”

.

.

.

.

.

“Ehh— _discúlpeme, Patrón, pero hay alguien que se está llamando por teléfono_ ,” **(Excuse me, boss, but there is a telephone call for you)** Diego, Javier’s lead _sicario_ and second-in-command, said, knocking on his bedroom door.

Javier groaned and pressed his face into the shoulder of the woman who was currently in his bed.

_“¿Y quién es_ _?”_ Javier bit out, _“_ _Estoy ocupado_ _.”_ **(Who is it? I’m busy)**

Diego sighed softly. His boss could be really grumpy whenever someone interrupted his, well, activities. Diego couldn’t blame him. Peña was a busy man and rarely had time for leisure, despite what the media might think about narcos _._ The man just wanted a few hours of peace, and he couldn’t even have that.

_“_ _Perdón, Patrón, pero son los Ochoa_ _.”_ **(Sorry, boss, but it’s the Ochoa’s)**

Javier sighed before turning to look at his companion, carding his fingers through her hair.

_“Perdóneme, chiquita, pero necesito contestar esta llamada,”_ **(Excuse me, sweetheart, but I need to answer this call)** Javier said, placing a kiss to the woman’s forehead before rolling out of bed and haphazardly throwing on his jeans.

_“No tardes demasiado tiempo, Javi, te necesito,”_ **(Don’t take too long, Javi, I need you)** his companion whined. Javier smirked and winked before entering his adjacent office and closing the door. He picked up the phone receiver, pressing a button to connect him to the line.

_“Habla con Javier Peña,”_ **(You’re speaking with Javier Peña)** Javier answers.

_“Javier, habla con Jorge Ochoa.”_ **(Javier, this is Jorge Ochoa)**

Javier smirks and lights a cigarette, figuring that he’s going to need one to get through this call.

_“Señor Ochoa,”_ he replies, _“Es un placer hablar con usted. ¿Ha considerado mi oferta?”_ **(It’s a pleasure to speak with you. Have you considered my offer?)**

_“Sí,”_ Jorge replied, _“Mi hermano y yo tenemos muchas ganas de ser sus socios.”_ **(Yes, my brother and I are very much looking forward to being your partners)**

_“Me alegro de oírlo,”_ Javier said, grinning, _“Sería una asociación muy fuerte.”_ **(I’m very happy to hear that. It will be a strong partnership)**

_“Pienso lo mismo,”_ Ochoa said, _“Hemos tenido muchos problemas con la DEA. Espero que usted y yo podamos trabajar juntos para resolverlos.”_ **(I think the same. We have been having problems with the DEA. I hope that we can work together to resolve them)**

Javier rolled his eyes. Their partnership was seconds old and already the Ochoa’s wanted something.

Typical.

_“Todo el mundo tienen problemas con la DEA,”_ Javier responded, _“¿Qué hicieron ahora?”_ **(Everyone has problems with the DEA. What did they do now?)**

_“Pues, ¿ha usted oido de la mujer en la DEA? No sé su nombre, pero ella acaba de descubrir uno de nuestros escondrijos. La DEA no encontraron nada, pero ella es muy inteligente. Es sólo cuestión de tiempo antes de que ella encuentre algo más importante.”_ **(Well, have you heard about the woman in the DEA? I don’t know her name, but she just discovered one of our hideouts. The DEA did not find anything, but she is very smart. It’s only a matter of time before she finds something more important)**

Javier frowned when he heard Jorge mention you. Javier hadn’t called you for a few weeks—he’d been too wrapped up in his own business—but he often found himself wondering what you were up to. He always knew that there would eventually be an endgame between _Los Pepes_ and the DEA, between you and him. But he didn’t (and still doesn’t) think that that would happen for quite some time.

But to hear that you had caught the attention of another narco concerned him, not just for himself, but for you. Javier had spent years evading the DEA, and so far, you were the only agent that he actually respected. Harassing you with phone calls was fun, sure, but it had been a long time since he had spoken to someone who didn’t have any ulterior motives. He knew that you wanted to arrest him and put him behind bars, just like you knew that he wanted to see what information he could pry out of you—both of you understood very well the parameters of your relationship.

Or at least, perhaps you did.

Somewhere down the line, Javier found himself growing more concerned about you, especially during the phone calls where you were clearly exhausted, hadn’t slept in days, and likely hadn’t eaten anything. Ochoa was right—you were smart. You were finding leads about as fast as Javier was able to squash them, but you were not quite fast enough to stay one step ahead of him. You were fast enough, it would seem, with your information collection to piss off another boss. While Javier knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, he couldn’t say the same for the Ochoa’s.

Not for the first time, Javier really hoped that you knew what you were doing.

.

.

.

.

.

You walked into Stechner’s office at noon on the dot to find a large half meat-feast, half Hawaiian pizza waiting for you on the conference table. You scrunched your nose at the offering. Seriously, Stechner was such a pig. _Pineapple on a pizza?_

And no _vegetables?_

No wonder he was out of shape and relegated to a desk.

A few minutes later, the asshole himself walked in carrying a large pot of coffee and two mugs. At least he brought one edible thing to get you through the rest of the day.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Stechner said, and you rolled your eyes at the nickname, “I didn’t know what you liked, so I just got the works.”

That was certainly one way of putting it. Whatever, you were promised free food and you were going to take advantage of it. Even if it meant having to choke down pineapple on a pizza.

“So,” you started, sitting down opposite from Stechner, “How can I help you? Did you get some kind of intel on _Los Pepes_?”

Stechner cleared his throat and shook his head.

“Uh, no actually. What I want your input on has to do with the Cali Cartel.”

Damn.

If there was one thing that the DEA, the CIA, and Javier Peña could agree on, it’s that the _Caballeros de Cali_ were a gigantic band of annoying motherfuckers. Those guys lived in the public eye and the fact that nobody could get enough evidence to lock those bastards up and throw away the key was downright infuriating.

When Pablo Escobar had died, the Cali Cartel and _Los Pepes_ were the last two major cartels left in Colombia. And they _hated_ each other. The turf wars, while uncommon because Peña had a shred of decency in him, were massive and bloody. Washington had decided that to handle the whole mess, it would be best to split up resources. The CIA was tasked with trying to gather enough evidence to bring in the Rodríguez brothers while the DEA and Search Bloc were assigned to track down the more elusive _Los Pepes_. So far, the DEA and the CIA had respected each other’s territory, only speaking when the other had accidentally gathered evidence on their unassigned cartel.

It made it all the more amazing that Stechner was now coming to you for help. 

You took a sip of your coffee and raised your eyebrows.

“Last time I checked the Cali Cartel was your problem.”

Stechner sighed and scratched his head.

“I know, and I wouldn’t be asking for help, particularly yours, if we weren’t in a pickle here. You see, the problem is that surveillance is only getting us so far. We don’t have enough evidence to even arrest the Rodríguez brothers, let alone put them behind bars. Frankly, we need someone to go in and gather intel from the inside.”

Oh no.

You could see where this was going.

Pineapple on a pizza didn’t seem like such a crazy idea after all, so you reached over and grabbed a slice.

“So, what does this have to do with me?” you asked, deciding to play dumb, as you chewed the disgusting pizza.

“Intel suggests that one of Cali’s lead _sicarios_ , Pablo García, arrived in Bogotá about two weeks ago. It seems that his function is to oversee operations in Bogotá and probably keep the peace with Peña. From what we can tell, he’s a highly respected and trusted official in the Cali Cartel, so him being sent here is a big sign.”

“Sign of what?” you frown, “Bogotá is Peña’s territory through and through, and Cali knows this. What business does Cali possibly have down here when all their operations are centered in, well, Cali? Peña’s gonna be pissed about this if he doesn’t already know about it.”

Stechner hummed and wolfed down a slice of pizza. You tried to keep the look of disgust off your face.

Pig.

“That’s the thing, we don’t know. Not a single fucking clue as to what he’s doing here. We just know that García’s from Cali and is here to work for the cartel. It’s possible he may be here to broker some kind of peace with Peña. Either way, point is, we don’t know, and we need someone to infiltrate this situation and figure out what the hell is going on.”

You blinked and took another nibble of your pizza, saying nothing. You knew exactly what Stechner was going to ask, but you were going to force the asshole to spell it out, in plain English, for you.

“Look, Agent, we all know your background. You did a lot of recon in the Middle East prior to coming here. You know how to get in, find what you need, and get out. We need someone who can get close to García and figure out what he’s doing in Bogotá. We need all the evidence we can get so we can lock these bastards up for good. Out of everyone else here, you’re the best for the job.”

You sighed and sipped some of the coffee.

“So, you want me to, what? Pose as a hooker or something and sleep with this guy for information?” you said in the most blasé tone you could muster, causing Stechner to choke on his pizza at your forwardness.

“Uh—no. No, not exactly,” Stechner said, clearing his throat, “If we wanted a hooker, there are plenty of ladies that are, well, more _experienced_ in that profession that we could call on.”

You rolled your eyes. For someone who tried to sleep with nearly every woman with a pulse, Stechner could be one hell of a prude.

“García’s not stupid. He’s not about to divulge anything to a hooker or allow them free access to his home,” he continued, “Basically, we want you to pose as his friend, or girlfriend, honestly, it’s whatever you prefer at this point. We’re just desperate to get someone in on the inside, so whatever way you manage to accomplish that is perfectly fine by us.”

You sighed.

“This is one _hell_ of an ask, Stechner. I’m already trying to deal with Peña and his cronies. What exactly makes you think that I have time to devote to this? And not only that, it’s not exactly a secret that I work for the DEA. How do you propose engineering a meeting with García in the first place, without arousing his suspicion?”

Stechner sighed again.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it’s a lot to ask, believe me I do. But I think this will help _both_ of us if we can get our hands on whatever information García’s carrying. Plus, the Cali Cartel is the responsibility of the CIA, as you pointed out earlier. The DEA hasn’t so much as looked in Cali’s direction since before you got here. Maybe Peña’s men know what you look like, but Cali would have no idea who you are. It’s not like they talk to Peña on a regular basis.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You just said that García could be here to broker some kind of deal with Peña. I’m sure feeding information about potential DEA agents that may come sniffing around would be considered as a sign of good faith from Peña. Could you even ensure that I would be safe if I decided to do this?”

Now it was Stechner’s turn to roll his eyes.

“No, of course I couldn’t guarantee your safety. You know this, Agent. You’ve been on enough recon and infiltration missions to know that you’d assume some of the risk by agreeing to the op. But I _can_ assure you that we wouldn’t be putting you in a completely unknown situation. You’d be going in armed with everything we know and all of the resources the CIA has at its disposal.”

_That_ made you feel _so much better_.

“Have you told the Ambassador about this idea of yours? Or hell, have you told the DEA? Or even your boss?”

Stechner shrugged.

“No, not yet. I figured I’d ask you first. What’s the point of going through the whole process of getting approval if you’re going to say no? Then I’d have to start the petition process to get a female CIA agent from Washington to come to Colombia.”

That…was awfully considerate and uncharacteristic of Stechner.

Huh.

“Look, I know it’s a lot. But just consider it, ok? Think it over and give me your answer by Friday. How does that sound? No hard feelings if you say no, we’ll figure something else out.”

Stechner flashed you a smile, which you supposed was trying to be reassuring but it just served to make the already slimy man look slimier. You took a sip of your coffee hoping to down the awful taste of that Hawaiian pizza with something more pleasant. Your stomach felt as though it was going to upend all over Stecher’s beautiful oak table.

The fucker would deserve it too.

“Fine, just…I’ll give you an answer on Friday. But in the meantime, send me everything you’ve got on this García character. I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into before signing up.”

Stechner smiled again.

“Sure, I’ll have one of my agents bring you a copy this afternoon. Thanks, seriously, for considering. It’d help both of us out a lot.”

You took a glance at the clock and noticed that the hour you had given Stechner to go over this scheme was indeed finished. You stood, discarding the half-eaten slice of nasty pizza.

“Well, thanks for lunch. I should get back to work. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure, do you want to take some pizza for the road?” Stechner asked, indicated the box that you’d barely touched.

You shook your head and walked out of the room.

God what a week this had turned out to be, and it was only 1pm on a Monday. 

.

.

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.

“Wait, wait, wait. Slow the hell down. The CIA wants you to _what exactly_? Go undercover and infiltrate a _sicario’s_ home by posing as his girlfriend? Did I catch that right?” Trujillo, a Search Bloc officer and your best friend, asked disbelievingly.

“Yeah, man, I don’t know what to tell you. The whole thing is just so fucking absurd, I don’t even know where to begin,” you replied, speaking in English so as to confuse anyone at the bar who might be listening in on your conversation.

“Damn,” Trujillo said, taking a sip of his beer, “What did Steve have to say about that? Did you tell the colonel?”

“Steve was flabbergasted, he thinks it’s a terrible idea. I’m hard pressed to disagree with him,” you said, shaking your head, “As for the colonel, I don’t know. I haven’t told him yet, but I doubt he’s going to be very happy about this either. But I doubt I’d be allowed to tell him. I don’t think I should even be telling _you_.”

Trujillo laughed.

“Who am I gonna tell, eh, _amiga_? Marisol hates it when I bring my work home,” he said, smiling slightly at the thought of his wife.

You rolled your eyes affectionately. Trujillo was such a sap, but you were glad he had found happiness in Marisol.

“Speaking of which, you should probably be getting home to her, _cabrón_ ,” you said, indicated Trujillo’s watch. Trujillo checked the time, his eyes widening.

_“Ay, mierda, tienes razón. Son las siete, Marisol me matará,”_ **(Oh shit, you’re right. It’s seven, Marisol is going to kill me)** Trujillo hissed, quickly gathering his things while you chuckled at his haste.

_“Te veo, mañana amiga. Por favor, no hagas nada estúpido,”_ **(I’ll see you tomorrow, friend. Please, don’t do anything stupid)** he said, clapping his hand on your back.

_“Oye, vete a la mierda, cabrón,”_ **(Fuck you, asshole)** you bit out, affectionately. Trujillo rolled his eyes and swiftly left the bar leaving you to finish your whiskey in peace.

Or so you thought.

“ _Mi querida,_ are you cheating on me?”

You froze, slowly lifting your head to look at the person who just took the seat across from you.

Javier Peña.

In the flesh.

That shithead hadn’t called you for three weeks, and just when you thought he had gotten bored of you and you could finally have some peace, he pulls this stunt.

And that fucker was sporting the biggest, shit-eating grin you had ever seen.

“Peña,” you hissed, “You’ve got a lot of balls coming here and approaching me in person.”

Peña smirked at you, licking his lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, _chiquita_?"

You _really_ didn’t want to know.

Except that you did.

Not that you would _ever_ admit that.

_Ever._

Goddamn this unfairly handsome asshole.

“You know,” Javier said, “I’ve only been gone three weeks and already you’ve gotten yourself a new boyfriend. Should I be jealous, _querida_?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Peña.”

That stupid grin returned.

“You could be.”

You narrowed your eyes and stared at him for a few seconds before responding.

“What’s your deal, Peña?”

Javier raised his eyebrows.

“Pardon?” he asked.

“I mean, what are you playing at? Why are you bothering me? You know I’m not going to tell you anything, so why are you wasting your time coming all the way over here to harass me?”

Javier regarded you for a moment, his face donning a more serious look.

“Actually, I’m here for a reason. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Dear god, it was only Monday and already the head of the fucking Colombia CIA team wanted to talk to you _and now_ the head of one of Colombia’s _biggest cartels_ wanted to talk to you.

Christ.

You took a gulp of your whiskey and nodded for him to continue.

“The Ochoa’s,” Javier began, “They know about your raid on their last hideout—”

Well that wasn’t news.

“—And then know that it was you who gathered the information on where the hideout was.”

Ok, that _was_ news. How could the Ochoa’s know that you gathered the intel? As far as the news outlets were concerned, Search Bloc led the raid with minimal, if any, DEA assistance.

“That’s ridiculous, Peña. Why would the Ochoa’s think it was me? They don’t even know me. More importantly, how do _you_ know about all this?”

Javier’s expression steeled, his eyes hardening as he regarded you.

“Just shut up and listen to me,” he hissed. Your eyes widened at his hard tone. Javier Peña, _El Patrón de Los Pepes_ , had graced you with his presence tonight.

“The Ochoa’s, they are on to you. As for _how_ they know, well, let’s say they wouldn’t have survived this long without making certain…how shall I say?…connections. You need to be careful, _chiquita_ , you are not flying quite so far under the radar as you seem to think. You are a strong and capable woman, I know this, but even the most seasoned agents don’t understand what they are getting into when they come to Colombia to fight us narcos. You are still a new player to this game, and if you are not careful, you’ll be knocked off the board.”

Javier looked at you for a few moments and sipped his drink, waiting for your response. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

“Why—why are you telling me this? Why are you helping me? What purpose does it serve you?”

Javier chuckled.

“Consider it…an act of good faith, _querida_. You are interesting opponent, and it wouldn’t be nearly as fun if you were taken out of game early, now would it?”

You blinked, not entirely sure how to respond to that.

“Now, it’s getting late,” Javier said, finishing his drink, “Shall I arrange for someone to escort you home? The streets of Bogotá aren’t safe for a single woman, as I’m sure you are aware.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“As if I’d let you or your goons know where I lived, Peña. I have a car, and I’ve only had one drink. I can drive myself.”

Peña laughed, the mirth returning to his expression, and he looked just like the Javier Peña that originally walked into the bar and tried to flirt with you.

“No, I suppose I didn’t think that would work either,” he said, standing from the table and looking down at you once more.

“Take care of yourself, Agent.”

And with that Javier strode out of the bar and into the dark night, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell just happened. You sighed, running your fingers through your hair.

Hopefully Tuesday would be a little slower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor reader can't catch a break, can she? As always, please let me know what you think! And come say hi on tumblr @maharani-radha.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Here's the next installment. Enjoy :D

“Wait, wait, don’t tell me you are seriously considering this asshole’s offer?” Steve Murphy exclaimed, shaking his head and pulling out a cigarette, “Stechner is a Grade A piece of shit and you want to go _undercover for him_? Walk me through your logic, please?”

You were about to respond but Carrillo jumped in first.

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” he said, “I don’t like it any more than you do, but what if what the CIA thinks is true, and that Cali and _Los Pepes_ might be brokering some kind of deal? We need to be in the room where it happens.”

Steve groaned and gesticulated wildly.

“But there are plenty of _other_ ways that we can accomplish that and most of them do not involve sending my partner out on some kind of a suicide mission.”

Carrillo rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Murphy. It’s dangerous, yes, but I would hardly call it a suicide mission—”

“—Oh my mistake, she’s just supposed to go undercover, seduce a narco, and attempt to pull information out of him. And if she gets caught, she gets her fucking brains blown out. So tell me, again, Carrillo, why you think this is a good idea? Because from my end it’s fucking—”

“Boys!” you shouted, effectively shutting both of them up and causing them to face you, “Can we shut up for a moment, please, and perhaps let the person who’s actually risking her ass get a word in edgewise?”

Carrillo gave a curt nod, and sat down in his chair, stealing a cigarette from Murphy’s pack. Murphy just rolled his eyes and gestured for you to say your piece. You took a sip from your water bottle before continuing.

“Look, I’m the last person that wants to do anything for the CIA. I’ve worked with them in the past, and trust me, they’re bastards,” you said, “But Carrillo is right. We have no clue what the Cali _sicario_ is doing in Bogota, and we need to find out. We’ve always been one step behind these _hijos de puta_ but now we have a chance to at least get on the same page.”

Murphy sighed, causing smoke to blow in your general direction. You wrinkled your nose at the smell and leaned to avoid it.

Nasty habit, smoking was.

“Look,” Murphy said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on Carrillo’s desk, “I’m just saying that an op like this could go pear-shaped in a matter of minutes. And if it does, I don’t trust Stechner to do what needs to be done to get you out. He’s made it clear it’s a CIA job, so I don’t know what kind of support we can give you, and I just don’t feel comfortable sending you in there without us. Especially with Peña running around and harassing you. Speaking of which, have you heard from that fucker recently?”

You let out a shaky breath and took a sip of water to buy yourself some time before letting Murphy know exactly who you hung out with at the bar on Monday. It was Thursday already and you hadn’t told either your partner or Carrillo about it.

“Yeah...about that,” you started. Carrillo raised an eyebrow at you and took a drag from his cigarette.

“I, uh, was grabbing a beer with Trujillo on Monday, and after he left, Peña decided to pay me a visit. In person.”

“ _Excuse me?!_ ” Steve shouted standing from his chair and leaning across Carrillo’s desk to glare at you, “Exactly when were you _planning to tell me this?_ ”

Carrillo also stared at you, clearly livid.

“I thought I told you to call me _immediately_ whenever he contacted you. Why did you not inform me that he approached you _in person_?” Carrillo hissed.

“Well you see—”

“What did he say?” Murphy bit out.

“He didn’t—”

“Did he threaten you?”

“Jesus, Murphy, let me talk.”

Steve scoffed and sat back down in his chair aggressively. He pulled another cigarette out of his pack and lit it, his eyes never leaving yours.

“As I was saying,” you began, “He didn’t do anything. It was a really odd encounter. In fact, he warned me that the Ochoa brothers had somehow figured out that I had collected the information on the location of the hideout we raided. Peña, yes Javier Peña, told me to be careful of them.”

Carrillo rose his eyebrows, and Steve gave an unamused chuckle. 

“That’s fucking rich,” Steve said, “As if he would just pass you intel about another narco without wanting something in return. He’s gonna be back soon and he’s gonna want you to pay up. Christ, how can you be so fucking naïve?”

You narrowed your eyes at Steve, blood boiling. Steve was a passionate individual, prone to angry outbursts, and you had seen them on multiple occasions. But you had absolutely no patience for it now.

“What the _hell_ is your problem, Murphy?”

“What the hell is _my_ problem?” Steve exclaimed, standing up abruptly to tower over you, “There’s a lunatic, drug dealer running around who has decided to harass my partner and when he decides to show up to talk to her in person, she _somehow_ thinks that I don’t need to know this _tiny, fucking detail_.”

Your eyes widened, as you realized what Steve was getting at.

“It’s not _personal_ , Steve, it’s just that—”

“Not personal, my ass. Of course it’s fucking _personal_ ,” Murphy growled before violently plopping himself back down in the chair, letting it crash into the wall from the force of his body.

“That’s _enough_ , _both of you_ ,” Carrillo hissed, _“Ustedes son adultos, dios mio.”_ **(You both are adults, my god)**

“English, please!” Steve barked, and Carrillo rolled his eyes.

_“Pinche gringo,”_ **(Fucking gringo)** Carrillo mumbled before turning to you, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

You sighed, taking another sip of water to try to alleviate your dry throat.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you guys—” Steve scoffed at that, “—it’s that, this isn’t something you need to concern yourself with. So far, he hasn’t done anything other than give me a hard time, and maybe tell me to watch my back. He hasn’t threatened me. We need to focus on finding the low hanging fruit of his cartel and start systematically taking them out. As for Peña himself, well, he’s my problem. I can take care of myself.”

_“Dios mio,”_ Carrillo sighed, rubbing his face with his hands, “I thought we went over this. Do you know why Peña’s targeting you specifically?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Because I’m a pretty piece of ass, unlike you two shitheads?”

Steve guffawed at that, but Carrillo sent him a stern look which shut him up immediately.

“It’s because you’re the weakest link,” Carrillo said.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” you shrieked, “And what the hell do you mean by that, Colonel?”

“I’m not questioning your capabilities,” Carrillo reassured you, “We were all there when you arrested _El Lobo._ We’ve seen what you can do. It’s not that. It’s that out of all of us, you’re the one who feels as though she still has something to prove. Just look at how defensive you’ve been during this entire conversation. Peña’s trying to exploit that.”

You frowned, silently willing Carrillo to continue. Carrillo took another drag from his cigarette and sent Murphy a look before speaking again.

“He’s trying to drive a wedge between the three of us—get us to mistrust each other. Why do you think he’s harassing you? He’s trying to break you down, get you to go rogue and do something stupid. Alone, you can do plenty of damage, but with Murphy and me behind you, we can do even more. We may not have had a solid lead in a while, but when we do, Peña will start shitting his pants.”

Carrillo stubbed out his cigarette and regarded you again.

“The point is that you need to trust us. I have told you before that you cannot do this alone. The only way we destroy his _hijo de puta_ is if we _stick together_ , _¿me comprendes?”_ **(Do you understand me?)**

You sighed and hung your head. Carrillo was right. You were too stubborn for your own damn good sometimes.

“Yeah, yeah, I understand,” you said softly before looking up at your two partners, “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that—”

“I don’t want to hear your apologies,” Carrillo said, dismissively, “Just don’t do it again.”

The three of you were silent for a few moments, Carrillo and Murphy pulling out yet another cigarette while you sipped your water pensively.

“So,” you said after what felt like ten minutes, “About Stechner...”

“Fuck,” Murphy said under his breath.

Carrillo just put his head in his hands and sighed.

.

.

.

.

.

“Well, doll, I have to say that I’m surprised, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Stechner said smacking his lips on some chewing gum, “We could really use your help, and I’m grateful that you’ve decided to join us.”

You didn’t say anything for a few moments, but you didn’t need to as Stechner could talk enough for three people.

“Anyway, welcome to the CIA,” he said holding out his hand to shake yours.

You stared at his hand for a moment before taking a deep breath and moving your eyes to meet his.

“Let me make this clear, I am accepting your offer only if two conditions are met.”

Stechner frowned and withdrew his hand. He leaned back in his chair and settled his hands over his stomach and stared at you.

“All right, let’s hear it.”

You internally rolled your eyes. Did Stechner think that this job was going to be easy for him?

“First of all, I want your assurance that any intel that I happen to pick up on _Los Pepes_ remains property of the DEA. The CIA will stay in their lane and not trample all over our hard work.”

Stechner raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“Sure, deal. What’s next?”

You took another breath before squaring your shoulders and meeting Stechner’s stare dead on.

“The second is that I want Murphy and Colonel Carrillo to be in contact with me the entire time, or at the very least, have a way to contact me whenever I’m meeting García. If anything should happen to me, they’ll be the first to respond.”

Stechner frowned and leaned forward.

“Now just a second,” he protested, “What kind of condition is that? I told you that you’d have every available resource that the CIA has to offer, including the backup of some of our best field agents here in Colombia. Is that not enough for you?”

You shook your head.

“Not at all, Stechner.”

“Why? Do you not trust us?”

“No, absolutely not.”

Stechner chuckled without humor. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

“I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a liar,” you articulated.

Stechner leaned back in his chair again and regarded you. “Well, I can agree to the first condition, but not the second. This is a CIA operation, not a DEA or Search Bloc mission. I’m fine with not stepping on your toes with _Los Pepes_ , but I’m not about to make this an entire interagency affair.”

You rolled your eyes at that.

“Well then perhaps you should have thought about that before you came to me for help. Or is nobody in the CIA qualified to do the things you’re asking me to do?”

Stechner huffed but said nothing.

“If you want my help, we’re going to do it my way,” you declared, “And I’m bringing in my own backup, whether you like it or not. Think of it this way, fewer of your agents will have to babysit me. Either Carrillo and Murphy monitor me or the deal’s off.”

Stechner groaned and rubbed his balding head, before finally nodding.

“All right, Agent, fine. You can have one of your little boyfriends tag along, but only Murphy. Mostly because there’s no way in hell I’m giving that Colombian son-of-a-bitch any tangential access to classified CIA operations.”

You seethed at the blatant disrespect Stechner was showing Carrillo. If anything, the only reason that the CIA was even able to do its job around here was because of people like Carrillo who loved their country so much that they were willing to work with slimeballs like Stechner just to get some motherfucking peace. Maybe once this meeting was over, you could finally convince Carrillo to get a dart board for his office so you could drunkenly throw some pointy shit at a picture of Stechner’s gross face.

You were a normal, functioning, mature adult, thank you very much.

“Fine, just Murphy then,” you conceded. But Stechner wasn’t done yet.

“And he has to stay in the surveillance trucks with _my_ agents. No running around by himself or going rogue. This is still a CIA op, and we give the orders. Capeesh?”

_Goddammit._

Well, you’d rather have Murphy in the truck with the CIA agents than not have Murphy around at all, so you’ll take what you can get at this point.

“Fine, Stechner,” you said, standing up from your seat intending to march straight back to your office, “Well, I’m glad we could clear this up. I look forward to working with you.”

Stechner gave you a wide grin in response.

“Me too, Agent,” he agreed, “Welcome aboard. I’m sure with our combined efforts, we’ll catch this bastard quickly. And speaking of which, are you busy tonight?”

Oh god.

This better not be what you think it is.

“Why do you ask?” you question, suspiciously.

“Ah, well, word on the street is that our friend likes to go to this club in the center of town on most Friday nights. Chances are he’ll be there tonight. Maybe you might want to, ya know, go in there and see if you can get his attention?”

You couldn’t think of anything you’d rather do less. You were hoping to use this evening to unwind from one of the most exhausting weeks of your time in Colombia with a glass of wine and a good book. But it appears that wasn’t going to be happening. Duty calls. One of the hazards of being married to your job.

“What time?” you asked, trying hard to keep the emotional exhaustion from your voice.

“Well, since it’s a bit short notice, I need to go harass some people to make sure we have the proper equipment. How about we plan on meeting at the bar around eight? That should give you some time to go home and maybe get changed or something?”

You sighed. Leave it to Stechner to concern himself with what you were going to be _wearing_. As if there weren’t more pressing matters to deal with.

“See you around, Stechner,” you mumbled, leaving his office.

“See you soon, Agent! Looking forward to it.”

.

.

.

.

.

“Seriously, Steve, thanks for doing this. I’m really sorry, I know you and Connie had plans this evening,” you said, apologetically.

It was currently eight o’clock, exactly the time Stechner had asked you and Murphy to meet him at the seedy club that García frequented. The CIA team had already been parked a few blocks away running surveillance when you’d arrived. You and Steve met them in an inconspicuous alleyway where one of the CIA agents had given you a wire and tiny microphone to wear, which Steve was presently trying to help pin beneath the strap of your dress.

The truth was, you were nervous about this op. You were no stranger to undercover operations but the countries you had worked in before tended to be a lot more conservative about things, which was something you could at least handle. The Colombian nightlife scene was about as far from uptight as one could get, and you couldn’t help but feel like a complete fish out of water. Sure, you’d been to a few clubs before, but that had been a long time ago, back in your college days when you were too drunk and carefree to worry about what anyone thought about you. You’d grown up since then, become sterner, more cynical. Truth was, you weren’t sure how well you were going to fit in with this crowd, made up mostly of people who were at least ten years younger than you.

At least Steve was here. That provided you an immense amount of comfort, knowing that his watchful eyes weren’t too far away.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve murmured softly, “This isn’t the first time it’s happened and Connie understands. We would both rather that I be here with you than leave you by yourself.”

“I really do appreciate it, I feel better that you’re here.”

Steve nodded and pulled out the tiny earwig that the CIA agent had also dropped off.

“Stechner will be able to talk to you through this,” he said, “The reception is shit with all these buildings around, but he won’t talk to you unless absolutely necessary. Just gently put it in your ear and try to hide it as best as you can.”

You nodded and placed the earpiece as deep into your ear as you dared. When you were satisfied it wouldn’t spontaneously fall out, you turned to Steve and asked him to check if he could see anything. He pushed you closer to the street lamp and scrutinized you for a few minutes before nodding.

“You’re good to go, girl. Now get in there and kick some narco ass,” he said, smiling reassuringly before clapping you on the shoulder.

_“Agent, can you hear me?”_ Stechner’s voice crackled through your earpiece. Steve wasn’t kidding when he said the reception was shit. You only just barely made out what he was saying.

“Yes,” you responded, lowering your voice as best you could.

_“All right, great. Now do you have any questions? This’ll be the only time you can talk to me. The moment you enter the club, it’s a one-way street from here. I’ll try my best to feed you any information I can, but I don’t want to risk distracting you.”_

“No, Stechner, I’m fine.”

_“Great, the only tip I got for you is that our intel suggests that García has a type...namely that he likes young, innocent women—”_

You rolled your eyes. You were far from innocent.

_“—So if you could, I dunno, act it up or something, you’ll probably get his attention quickly.”_

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

_“Great, now tell Murphy to get his ass back here. Good luck, Agent.”_

You took a deep breath and nodded to Murphy. He gave you one last smile before turning around and heading back to the truck full of CIA agents. You took a few minutes and stared down the street at the entrance to the club. Beautiful, young men and women were drunkenly pouring in and out of the place, clearly celebrating the end of the week. You never felt so old and worn out as you did in that moment, watching them. Connie had helped you get dressed and assured you that you looked great, but you couldn’t help but feel as though you wouldn’t be enough to grab this narco’s attention and keep it—especially when there were bound to be younger, prettier women in that club running around.

Immediately you shook your head, mentally slapping yourself. No. You were not going to think like that. You were a badass DEA agent who had been in the business of espionage for a long time. You had trained and worked for years to get to where you were, quickly become one of the few active, female agents in the DEA because of your skills and intelligence. You had no business being insecure. Insecurity was for children.

Squaring your shoulders, you walked down the road to the club, trying to get into character by putting a small sway in your hips as you walked.

You had a job to do.

.

.

.

.

.

Javier Peña was not a club person. He hated them as a matter of fact. He much preferred bars. The clientele of bars was more mature and it was quieter. The pulsating lights and loud music in clubs just gave him a headache. But people went to clubs for one purpose, and that was to be noticed. And that was exactly what a member of the Cali Cartel would do.

Javier had been properly pissed when he found out that Pablo García had come to Bogota. A Cali _sicario_ had absolutely no business in these parts, which meant that he was either here to talk to Peña or systematically pick off his allies. Considering that Cali had expressed no interest, recently or otherwise, in negotiating anything outside of territory disputes, Peña was willing to bet that García was here for the latter reason.

Which is how Peña found himself in this godforsaken club on a Friday night. Once Peña had gotten wind that the Cali _sicario_ had moved to Bogota, he had immediately sent some of his best men to tail the guy. But García wasn’t a high-ranking _sicario_ for nothing. It was not easy to figure out what he was doing, where he was going, and who he was meeting. It was only by chance, frankly, that Peña had found out that he was going to be in this club. One of Peña’s men had been in the club anyway and had recognized García when he walked in. The guy had immediately rushed to the phone to call Javier, which resulted in him changing his Friday evening plans so he could come to a shady club in downtown Bogota and observe the actions of a member of his rival cartel.

Upon entering the club, Javier chose a seat towards the back. It was not huge nor was it overly crowded, so he could still easily see the entire establishment from his vantage point at the back. He ordered a drink from a passing waitress and covertly stared at his target, who happened to be chatting up a pretty lady a few tables over. Well—attempting to at least. He’d tried at least three times to convince the poor girl to dance with him, and she was not interested. If Peña weren’t sure he would blow his cover, he’d go over to García himself and kindly tell him to _lay off_. Javier himself may have been a bastard in many respects, but unlike his fellow traffickers, he understood that “no” meant “no.” There were plenty of other people who would fuck him. He didn’t need the ego boost that came with harassing someone who didn’t want the attention.

García eventually gave up and left the girl alone, sulking over to the side of the club with a whiskey. Javier found the entire situation hilarious really. García was decent-looking enough, and if he actually tried to properly seduce a woman, perhaps he could actually be successful. At the age of forty-three, Javier easily had five years on García and even he had more game than this man. After another half an hour of watching García try, unsuccessfully, to pick someone up, Javier was considering calling it a night and going home before something got his target’s attention. His head whipped towards the front door so fast that Javier got secondhand whiplash from it.

Squinting, Javier tried peering around the mass of dancing bodies to see what caught García’s eye and what he saw caused his jaw to drop.

_You_.

What the _hell_ were you doing here? In a club this seedy? _Dressed like that?_

Peña had never seen you outside of your office suits or the occasional jeans and t-shirt combo. So the fact that you were wearing a proper dress and makeup was enough to make his brain short circuit for a moment.

Ironically, there was nothing spectacular about what you were wearing. Most of the women in the club were practically falling out of their outfits, but not you. Your dress was modest, but it hugged your figure in all the right places giving Javier’s brain the unfortunate task of needing to fill in the gaps. But it didn’t make you any less attractive, in fact, it made you more alluring because Javier had absolutely no idea what was underneath, but all he knew was that he wanted to find out.

But it wasn’t your outfit that had him so weak. No. It was you. Your confidence. The way you just so casually strode into the club and walked up to the barstools like you owned the place. It was as if you knew how good you looked and you wanted everyone else to know it. And that self-assuredness made you the sexiest person in the whole establishment. Javier had been attracted to many different women over the years, but if he had to pick a type, it was a woman who took zero shit and had absolute faith in herself and her abilities.

You fit the bill on a normal day, but you _definitely_ fit the bill today. As he watched you, observing how your piercing gaze swept around the room and took in your surroundings, he decided that enough was enough. He was not going to let you leave this bar without letting you know _exactly_ what you did to him.

Unfortunately for him, just before he could get up and claim the seat next to you, García, in his infinite stupidity, beat him to it and began striking up a conversation with you. It was too loud for Javier to make out what he was saying to you, but he was sure that you were going to tell him to get lost. And then Javier could make his move.

....

But you didn’t.

No.

You were actually giving that fucker _attention_. Attention that he didn’t deserve. ~~Attention that you should be giving someone like Javier.~~

Javier narrowed his eyes as he watched the two of you. The _sicario_ was absolutely lapping up every single word you said to him. You didn’t say much, letting García do most of the talking, but whatever you did say to him had him hooked. It was all very confusing to him. Did you—did you not know who this was? How dangerous this man was, what he was capable of?

And if you were going to go flirt with dangerous men, why not flirt with someone who was _actually_ in your league?

~~Like Javier.~~

Hopefully this conversation would be over soon and Javier could actually—

Oh.

Oh no.

Now García had apparently invited you to dance with him, and you... _accepted?_ What the hell were you doing? Letting García's meat-hook hands grab your hips, his breath caress your neck? In all of the months that Javier had known you, had bothered you with his phone calls and his visits, he had never once pegged you for someone who was interested in one-night stands, let alone with someone so grossly inadequate.

He had never guessed that you would be the type to _settle_.

As he continued to watch the two of you dance, Javier gripped his glass of whiskey so tightly it was in danger of breaking. García had absolutely _no business_ touching you the way he did. He had absolutely no business thinking that he had a chance with a woman of your caliber. Absolutely not. And Javier was going to make sure both of you knew that.

Javier had had enough for the evening. He abruptly stood from his table and shrugged his jacket on, pulling the collar up to cover his face on the off chance you might recognize him as he stormed out of the club and into the cool Colombian night. Once he was in the parking lot, he unlocked his car and slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind him. He turned on the ignition and reversed out of the lot, driving back to his estate like a man crazed, vibrating with rage.

He was Jaiver Peña, the _patrón_ of Colombia’s fastest growing drug cartel. A household name that was feared and revered by people all over the world. He had been too soft on you.

What Javier Peña wants, he gets.

And he was going to make sure you knew exactly who you belonged to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please do let me know what you thought! I really do appreciate all of your comments. They make my day <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm...so, I kind of got carried away with this chapter. Oops? I hope you do like it though, it's perhaps one of the few chapters I am the most proud of :)

_“La mujer. ¿Cómo se llama?”_ **(The woman. What is her name?)**

Javier set his whiskey down on the table and turned to face the person who had asked the question.

_“¿Qué?”_ he asked, incredulously. The woman sitting across from him chuckled and took a drag from her cigarette.

_“Me oíste,”_ **(You heard me)** she said, smirking.

_“¿De qué hablas, Angelina?”_ **(What are you talking about, Angelina?)** Javier grumbled, narrowing his eyes. His cousin merely smirked in response.

_“Tú me dices.”_ **(You tell me)**

Javier scoffed and rolled his eyes.

_“No hay nada de decir.”_ **(There’s nothing to say)**

Javier heard another woman laugh as she entered the room and sat down next to Angelina. The second woman eyed him too, with a smirk to match Angelina’s.

_“No es lo que escuchamos,”_ **(That’s not what we heard)** she said, leaning back on the couch.

_“Por Dios, Angélica, no quiero hablar de eso,”_ **(My god, Angélica, I don’t want to talk about this)** Javier sighed, running his hand through his hair and staring out the window at the Colombian mountains.

_“Ah, entonces hay algo de decir, ¿verdad?”_ **(Ah, so there is something to say, then?)** Angélica said, grinning.

Javier turned his head away from the window to regard the two women currently seated on the couch across from him. Angélica and Angelina Herrera—Javier’s older, twin cousins from his mother’s side. The two women were formidable and ruthless in their teasing of their younger cousin, who they saw as a little brother. Although the jokes annoyed Javier to no end, their take-no-prisoners attitude was exactly the reason why he decided to recruit them into his cartel. Angélica and Angelina were responsible for overseeing his labs and shipment routes, respectively, and they did so with a fierceness that even some of the most seasoned Cali Cartel _sicarios_ did not possess. Javier knew that he owed a great deal of his success to his two cousins—the reason that he was able to focus on forming business partnerships and evading law enforcement was because the two women ran a well-oiled machine. Any potential problems or snitches were discovered and dealt with before they even reached his desk.

_Las Reinas de Cocaína_ , the Queens of Cocaine, was their nickname, even amongst the Cali operatives. And they scared people shitless. It made it all the funnier when the DEA eventually found out that Javier’s two most feared and respected _sicarios_ were women.

It was something that Javier was sure you secretly appreciated.

_“Javier,”_ Angelina called, causing Javier to look up and meet her eyes, _“Por favor, primo, ¿quién es esa mujer? ¿La de la DEA?”_ **(Please cousin, who is this woman? The one from the DEA?)**

Javier slightly narrowed his eyes at his cousins. This was getting into dangerous territory.

_“¿Y cómo la sabes, Angelina?”_ **(How do you know about her?)**

Angélica cleared her throat and responded for her sister.

_“Pues,”_ she began, _“Sabemos que la llamas por teléfono de vez en cuando, ¿no es cierto?”_ **(Well, we know you call her every once in a while, right?)**

_“¿Y qué?”_ **(So what?)** Javier questioned.

Angélica sighed and slammed her glass of wine down on the coffee table, earning her a stern look from her twin sister. Which she, unsurprisingly, ignored.

_“Es peligroso, Javier. ¿Sabes lo que estás haciendo? Ella trabaja por la DEA,¿no? Si tú no tienes cuidado, te encontrará y te detendrá. Vas a pasar el resto de tú vida en la carcel, ¿o me equivoco?”_ **(It’s dangerous, Javier. Do you know what you’re doing? She works for the DEA, yes? If you aren’t careful, she will find you and she will arrest you. You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail, or am I somehow mistaken?)** Angélica hissed, staring Javier down.

Javier was about to take a sip of his whiskey but paused for a moment, the glass halfway to his lips. He looked briefly at Angelina who, despite her usual tough-love demeanor, looked as if she wanted to stay entirely out of this conversation. Good. It wasn’t any of her business.

_“_ _Yo entiendo exactamente lo que estoy haciendo, Angélica. No necesito tus sermones_ _,”_ Javier responded, finishing his drink, _“Ella es simplemente una diversión, nada más. Una día, sería muy útil, pero ahora, es nada.”_ **(I know exactly what I’m doing, Angélica. I don’t need your lectures. She is simply a distraction, nothing more. One day, she’ll be very useful, but right now, she is nothing.)**

A pit formed in Javier’s stomach as he said those words. He couldn’t deny it to himself anymore. You weren’t nothing, especially not to him. He had no words to describe what he was feeling—he didn’t even know if he was allowed to put a name to them. Hell, the two of you hadn’t really had a proper, adult conversation, besides him warning you of the Ochoa’s. The bulk of your interactions involved him harassing you and you responding with threats that both of you knew that you couldn’t follow up on (at least, not yet). All Javier knew is that when he saw you at the club, dancing with that man, it awoke something in him—the green-eyed monster that had laid dormant for many, many years. 

Frankly, you drove him crazy. He had absolutely no business being jealous over you. No business and no right. The two of you were already dangerously toeing the line into—something. With his behavior that night, he might as well have just said ‘to hell with it’ and torn right through the barriers that separated the two of you. He had come dangerously close, but his better judgement held him back. Poor Diego had borne the brunt of Javier’s stroppy mood that evening when his boss had stormed back into the estate, raided his liquor cabinet for some vodka, and drank the dangerous, clear liquid straight from the bottle. After only a few sips, Javier threw the expensive bottle at the wall, taking great pleasure in watching it smash into thousands of little pieces and ruining the paint job.

_“¡Limpia este maldito reguero, ahora!”_ **(Clean up this fucking mess, right now!)** Javier had shouted at poor Diego, gesturing to the broken vodka bottle, before storming up to his bedroom and slamming the door.

Javier didn’t know what to do about you—didn’t know what to do about the two of you. He wasn’t so foolish as to believe that you were feeling the same conflictions about him that he was about you. You were too smart, too level-headed to fall into the deep spirals that Javier often went down into. The only thing that he realistically _could_ do was make sure that nobody else found out about you—he could keep you safe from other bosses, from his cousins, from petty criminals, anybody really, who would wish you harm.

He would double the tails on you, double the security. The first thing he needed to know is where you lived, and while so far that had been a side project, he was going to make it a priority. He couldn’t protect you from his world if he didn’t know where you went and what you did. Javier had been able to protect you on raids so far. He’d ordered his men _not_ to fire at you, no matter what. They could fire at Murphy—he didn’t give a shit about Murphy. They could certainly fire at Carrillo—he gave even less of a shit about Carrillo. But they _could not_ fire at you, _on pain of death_.

But it wasn’t enough. Things were starting to heat up between him and Cali. An endgame was coming, and it would bring many casualties, and Javier refused to let you become collateral. He didn’t care if this was your job, if this is what you had trained many years for.

You weren’t going to die because of him. He could protect you from a lot of this.

But he wasn’t sure if he could protect you from himself.

Javier wasn’t sure he wanted to.

.

.

.

.

.

Fake dating a _sicario_ was honestly one of the worst missions that you had decided to take. Not only did it bring your _narco_ suitor count up from one to two (yes, thank you Carrillo for that _hilarious_ joke), it also meant that you had to do everything humanely possible to keep from being associated with the DEA and La Policía Nacional, lest García watch the news and find out that you were actually a cop (and not a secretary like you had claimed).

What Stechner had failed to mention was that, in your effort to keep up your cover story, you weren’t allowed to go on raids anymore. And that just royally _pissed_ you off.

“We can’t risk this getting back to García,” Stechner had said a few days after your first encounter with García, “Because if he sees you on the news on a drug bust, he’ll _never_ trust you. Plus, it will show that you lied to him. You’re supposed to be a boring secretary, not a DEA agent.”

And unfortunately, the one time you thought Carrillo and Murphy would be on your side was the one time they actually sided against you—with Stechner.

The traitors.

“Trust me, I am not enthused about the fact that I have to deal with Murphy without you,” Carrillo had said, “His Spanish is shit after all.”

Murphy gave an indignant “Hey I heard that!” but Carrillo just rolled his eyes.

“But your CIA friend is right, you can’t risk yourself getting caught by going on raids with us. You’ll have to stay behind and run the comms.”

“Jesus Christ, Carrillo, I’m a seasoned field agent, not a desk jockey,” you grumbled later that day when Carrillo ordered you to stay behind after his men had gotten a tip about a small complex where some of Peña’s lower level _sicarios_ were known to sell drugs to the locals.

“You’re already on a field assignment, aren’t you?” Carrillo had said, shrugging on his Kevlar vest, “Your job is to get to García, so focus on that. It’ll be more helpful than this stupid bust.”

And with that, Carrillo, Murphy, Trujillo, and five other Search Bloc officers clamored into an SUV and drove off to go, well, for lack of a better term, have fun shooting at things. The particular raid ended up not being anything major, but a few arrests had been made and the men were brought back to the base for questioning.

While Carrillo and Murphy were out busting ass, you stayed behind and reviewed some of the additional pieces of intel that the CIA agents had picked up about García. It wasn’t much, but it gave you enough to know where to start looking when you finally got to the point that he invited you back to his house. You leaned back in your chair and thought about how the night at the club ended. García had been grinding his sweaty body all over you, and it had made your skin crawl, but you had done your best to make it seem like you had enjoyed it. Eventually, García had asked if you wanted to leave and go somewhere more…private, the implication very clear.

It was at that point that you had remembered Stechner’s advice. García liked young, innocent women, and the only way to get close enough to him to rifle through his files was to act it up. You’d gotten his attention, and now you had to keep it—which wasn’t likely after tonight, given the way this was going. Instead, you had turned around to face García and given him the most bashful smile you could muster and said (even though it pained you with every fiber of your being) that this was your first time out, and you really would rather take things slow, and that you were sorry you had led him on, and blah, blah, blah.

Whatever incoherent babbling you had managed to conjure up had far from discouraged García. No. It had _completely encouraged_ that motherfucker. He gave you a soft smile and told you not to worry, that he completely understood where you were coming from.

That had made your head spin. Apparently Stechner hadn’t been full of shit on that one.

Huh.  
  


Who knew?

Instead, what your Virgin Mary act had earned you was a _date_ with the guy. García had pulled you off the dancefloor and over to the bar where he asked you to scribble your number on a napkin. You gave him the number to a monitored second landline that the CIA agents had installed earlier that day in your apartment. A few days after your encounter, he had called you on that landline and asked you out for dinner the following Friday, a week after your first meeting at the club. You, being the attention-starved, schoolgirl you were (barf), had immediately gushed over the invitation and agreed enthusiastically.

So that’s how you found yourself, on this illustrious Tuesday afternoon, sitting at a desk waiting for the boys to come home.

You shuddered at that thought. How stupid this entire situation was.

You just wanted to go home and get some sleep.

.

.

.

.

.

The drive back to your apartment seemed very different. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you felt as though you were being watched the whole time. When you had first come to Colombia, Carrillo had warned you not to become too complacent and start building habits that would allow any _sicarios_ to track you. So since then, you would spend an extra half hour than you needed to getting home by taking back streets, side streets, basically any street that would confuse someone who happened to follow you. It had provided an unforeseen advantage in that you learned the layout of Bogotá, allowing you to quickly navigate the city when needed.

But this time felt different. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up when you had walked across the parking lot from the police headquarters to your car. You had looked around for a few moments, trying to discern the cause of your feeling, but brushed it off, after not seeing anybody else around.

Unfortunately, the feeling had only intensified as you started to drive back to your apartment. You’d kept looking out the rearview mirror for any cars that may seem suspicious but once again, nothing. To ease your paranoia, you took an even more complicated route home than usual, but the unease didn’t fade—no, it only grew with each turn you took. For a few moments, you debated whether it would be a good idea to just head back to the CNP base and stay in one of the bunks that Carrillo had specially outfitted in case of overnight stakeouts or last-minute raids.

You shook your head and decided to just suck it up and go home. Your exhaustion must be fueling your paranoia. So that’s exactly what you did.

Little did you know that your decision to do this had just made your life that much more complicated. And years down the line, you would decide that it maybe hadn’t been such a bad thing after all.

A couple of hours, dinner, and a shower later, you were sitting on your couch watching a popular Colombian telenovela. It was a silly thing that allowed you to unwind on a normal day, but tonight, you still felt uneasy. The night was too still, too peaceful. Something was going to happen, and you just did not know what it was. You didn’t think it was anything bad (truly, if you had felt in danger at any point, you would have hightailed it right back to base and spent the night there).

Just as you settled down into your bed for the night, reaching to turn off the lamp on your nightstand and shroud the room in darkness, you heard the phone ring.

Oh.

You didn’t have to answer the phone to know who it was. Only one person consistently called you at midnight…or at least, had consistently called you, up until a few weeks ago.

Sighing, you got out of bed and trudged to the living room, picking up the phone.

_“Querida,”_ the caller answered, before you even had a chance to greet them.

“Peña,” you grumbled, _“¿Qué quieres, ahora?”_ **(What do you want, now?)**

Peña was silent for a moment, before he sighed, deeply and tiredly. You frowned at that. He sounded different somehow. Off.

_“Nada querida,”_ he responded, _“Solamente quiero oír tú voz.”_ **(I only want to hear your voice)**

If you thought he sounded off before, he sounded even worse now. Very off. Something was wrong.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Peña?” you asked. You received a low chuckle in response.

“I don’t know, _quierida_ , I really don’t know.”

His tone was so…so sad (you hesitated to think), so forlorn. It was really, really unlike him, and you found yourself growing _concerned_ for the hardened criminal.

“Peña—are you—are you alright?” you asked.

Javier just laughed humorously at your inquiry.

“No, no, _querida_ , I am not alright.” 

Were you about to play impromptu psychotherapist to a _narco_? Oh boy. This couldn’t be good.

“Oh,” you said, for lack of anything better to say, “I’m sorry.”

Javier (when had he become Javier instead of Peña?) sighed again.

“Me too, _querida._ ”

The agent in you told you to try to keep him talking. If a _narco_ was being vulnerable, then you would be a fool not to take advantage of it. But something in you didn’t _want_ to take advantage of him. After all, Peña was taking a big risk in calling you, especially when he wasn’t in the best headspace ( _narcos_ were human too, despite what people thought). Clearly, he trusted you to some extent not to rat him out.

For once, you decided to shed the persona of being a cop chasing after a dangerous criminal and decided to just be two—people (?) having a conversation.

Truthfully, you had no idea what kind of relationship the two of you had at this point, but if Javier was going to throw caution to the wind, you supposed you owed it to him to at least meet him halfway.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” you asked cautiously. Instead of laughing at you like you thought he might, Peña let out a slow breath.

“ _Querida_ ,” he began, “Do you ever question why you do the things that you do?”

You blinked. Well, that was…oddly philosophical. Not what you were expecting at all.

“Sure, sometimes,” you replied.

“And why do you do the things that you do?”

You frowned.

“What do you mean? Are you asking why I joined the DEA?”

“If that’s how you choose to interpret the question.”

You rolled your eyes. You had played along so far, but you weren’t going to play twenty-questions with this guy. But something told you to keep him talking for just a few more minutes, so you settled on giving him an answer.

“Probably so that I can make a difference, I suppose. Try to stop illegal substances from coming into the United States and causing so many problems.”

Javier gave a small chuckle at that.

“No,” he said, “No, that’s not why you joined the DEA.”

“And how would you know that? You don’t even know me,” you said with an edge to your voice.

“Probably, but I know you better than you think,” Peña said, “If you truly cared about the way drugs ravage your country, then you would attempt to dismantle the tobacco companies, wouldn’t you? But the DEA only cares about me because my products are illegal. No, you don’t care about the drug war. So, tell me the truth, why are you here?”

“I just told you—”

“No, don’t—,” Javier interrupted, “Don’t _lie to me_ , _querida_. I deal with liars on a daily basis, and I just don’t have the patience for the it right now. Especially from you.”

Something must be _very_ wrong with Peña today.

“I guess…I’m here because I want to do something with my life,” you confessed, “To feel as if I am part of something important, I don’t know. I don’t want to die in the same place I was born—doing the same things I’ve always done.”

You blinked at your response, not knowing what possessed you to say that. But something about Javier Peña disarmed you and got you to reveal what was on your mind. While you didn’t say anything particularly noteworthy or damning, you knew you’d have to be more careful when you spoke with Peña.

“So, you want adventure,” Peña replied, snapping you out of your revery, “I knew it. But I don’t blame you—we are both quite similar in that respect. Neither of us is content with a conventional life.”

“I suppose, but that’s where the similarities end.”

“Are you sure about that?” Peña questioned. You didn’t have a response to that, so instead, you replied with a question.

“Why do _you_ do the things that you do, Javier?”

“Oh, so now you decide to call me ‘Javier’?”

You internally swore at the Freudian slip. Damn this man and his ability to get under your skin so easily.

“Don’t get used to it.”

Javier chuckled again.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, _querida_.”

There was silence again, nothing but the sound of your breathing crackling through the receiver.

“A few years ago, I would have told you,” Javier began, “that I got into trafficking for the money. And I did. I was young and felt I had something to prove, and I thought that maybe I could do something with that money. Maybe if I addicted all you stupid Americans to cocaine, I could take your money and use it to build up my own country, protect the people that yours and our government of _malparidos_ would not do….no offense, _querida._ ”

You snorted.

“None taken.”

You could almost see Javier’s smirk through the phone.

“But that was a long time ago,” Javier sighed.

Another silence for a few moments, and you thought that the conversation was coming to an end before you felt a surge of confidence.

“And what about now?” you asked, once again, not sure what possessed you to continue this whole charade. Was Javier actually a person beneath the hardened criminal exterior? It was all so confusing, but you just couldn’t get enough. You found yourself wanting to know more—to know what motivated someone like him to, well, do the things that he did.

“Well,” Javier breathed into his receiver, “The easy answer is that I would love to see the Cali fuckers burn to the ground for causing me so much trouble and taking easily ten years off my life.”

You chuckled at that. Javier never swore in English, only Spanish, so he must really hate the Rodríguez brothers for them to not even warrant an insult in their native language.

“And what about the hard answer?” you asked.

There was a long pause, and you were just about to wonder if you had gone too far before Javier spoke again.

“What hard answer?” he asked.

“You told me the easy answer. What’s the hard answer? Why do you _really_ do the things you do, Peña? I already told you my answer. Quid pro quo.”

Another silence.

“Can you do me a favor, _querida?_ ” Peña finally answered after what seemed like an hour.

“Depends on what you’re about to ask.”

“Go look out your window for me.”

You froze. What…what did he mean by that? Surely that bastard hadn’t figured out where you lived? Had he? Maybe…maybe he had you followed. Maybe _that’s_ why you were feeling so strange leaving work today. That bastard had you followed. But you had done everything Carrillo told you to, there’s no way he could have—

_“Querida, ¿estás allí?”_ **(Are you there?)** Javier said, interrupting your panicked spiral.

“What are you talking about, Peña?” you said, your voice bitingly cold, threatening almost.

“Please, _querida_ , just look out your window for me,” Peña said softly.

You decided to play it dumb. Even if Peña had figured out where you lived, maybe you could trick him into thinking that he had the wrong house. You turned off the small lamp you had sitting next to the phone and cautiously went to the window, taking the phone with you, and pulling the shades back just a bit so you could see outside. Sure enough, you saw a red SUV parked next to your car, one that you didn’t recognize, with its headlights on. You took a shuddering breath as you realized that your worst fear had come true.

Despite your efforts, Peña had figured out where you lived. How he had managed to accomplish that would probably forever be a mystery (just like how he got ahold of your phone number). But that didn’t matter now. What mattered is that your home was no longer safe.

You were no longer safe.

You had been so stupid. You should not have even answered the phone tonight, let alone continued this conversation. Peña had played you like a violin. Steve had been right that day—Peña never did anything without an ulterior motive, and now he was coming for his payment.

_“¿Querida?”_ the voice crackled through the phone and jolted you back to reality. You had a criminal outside of your apartment, and you needed to figure out a way to deal with him, right now.

“There’s nothing out there. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, hoping that you could throw Peña off and get him to go away.

Javier sighed.

“I saw the light in your living room go off, _querida_ ,”—shit— “Just please stop lying to me. I know you’re in there.”

You took a shuddering breath knowing that you weren’t going to be getting out of this one that easily. You wished that you had the foresight to leave a tape recorder next to the phone so you could record this conversation to give to Carrillo later.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, keeping your voice steady. If anyone else heard you, they would have no inkling of the sheer panic going through your system.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly.

“I don’t believe that for one second, Peña.”

“ _Querida_ , if I really wanted to hurt you, there are much more expedient ways to have done so.”

He was right. If he wanted to kill you or kidnap you, he would have done so already. After all, he and his men had had the full advantage all evening when they tailed you to your apartment. God, you had been so stupid, you should have trusted your instincts, honed from years of training and experience, and gone back to the base when you had the chance.

“Then what do you want from me?” you said, repeating your question from the beginning of the phone call.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he said, his voice was so quiet that you barely heard it. But you weren’t buying it.

“Well, you’ve done so. You’ve had your fun, you can go home,” you pleaded, gripping the phone receiver in your hand so hard that you were worried that you’d break the plastic.

“Do you think this is all a game for me?” he asked, and if your nerves weren’t so shot, you would have cackled at the sheer ridiculousness of the question.

“Absolutely. You’ve made that _very_ clear in the past, Peña.”

“It’s not,” he said, his voice still so low, so soft, almost as though he was trying to comfort you, “Maybe—maybe in the beginning it might have been. But now—now too many lives are at stake. There’s going to be an end to this war, and it will come, swiftly and brutally. And I cannot stand by and watch the people I care about get hurt.” 

“People you care about? Peña, you don’t care about anyone but yourself,” you hissed, feeling your tenuous grip on reality slipping away, as you contemplated the consequences that this phone call would bring in the morning.

“That’s not true. I had hoped that maybe this phone call would have enlightened you to that fact. But I don’t think I’ve made myself quite clear, have I?”

_What?_

“Peña, what—what the _hell_ are you talking about? What _do you want from me?_ ”

Javier let out another long sigh.

“ _Querida_ , do me one more favor. Can you come outside? Just step out onto your balcony.”

“ _What,_ so you can _snipe me_? Are you crazy? Not a chance in hell.”

_“Please.”_

The word was spoken so forcefully, so desperately that you had no choice but to pause and think it over. Clearly Peña wanted something from you, and you being dead would not accomplish whatever it was. Like he had said before, if he wanted to hurt you, he would have done so. And Peña wasn’t stupid enough to kill an American agent without direct provocation, was he?

No. No. This was such a colossally bad idea, but unfortunately you were going to do it anyway. You just _had_ to know what this bastard wanted from you.

And if what he wanted from you was what you, in the dark recesses of your mind, hoped he wanted from you.

“My phone receiver, it doesn’t stretch that far.”

“That’s ok,” he said, “Just hang up and come out, please. Then you’ll see what I want from you.”

You took a deep breath and did as he asked. You hung up the phone, set it against the stand, and slowly approached the sliding door that led out to your small balcony. Carefully, you opened the curtains and unlatched the door hook, sliding the door to the other end, letting the cool air blast your face for a few moments. You let your skin adjust to the sudden temperature change before tentatively stepping one foot over the threshold. And then another, until you were just in front of the railing, still mercifully covered by your upstairs neighbor’s balcony, something you had never been so grateful for until now.

You swung your gaze down to the parking lot, searching for the red SUV you’d seen earlier only to find that, to your shock, Peña was standing outside the car, leaning on the driver’s side door. You could see a faint glow from his lighter as he lit a cigarette, his profile illuminated by the streetlamp just a few paces to his left. He took a drag from his cigarette before lifting his gaze up to meet yours. The two of you stood there for a few moments before the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile.

Although it was somewhat hard to see from this distance, you could tell it was a real smile. A genuine smile.

Not knowing what else to do with yourself, you lifted your hand and gave him a small, perfunctory wave, which just caused his smile to widen. He stood there for another few minutes, studying you, before dropping his cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out with the heel of his shoe. He looked up again to catch your gaze and gave you a small nod before opening the car door and starting the engine.

You watched as his headlights came on, and he reversed out of the parking lot, driving off into the dark, cool Colombian night. Standing outside for a few extra moments, watching his car grow smaller and smaller into the distance, you contemplated what he could have possibly meant before you hung up the phone.

And then after a minute it hit you like the cold burst of wind that had just rattled your balcony.

It was you that he wanted.

Just you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...don't hate me?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest chapter so far! Clocking in at just under 5800 words. Oops xD

“What do I do, Steve? Should I tell the Ambassador? She’ll ship me right off on the next plane to the States before I can even blink.”

Steve Murphy sat as his desk, his head in his hands, having not dared look at you as you related the entire encounter with Peña from the night before. The situation was starting to now get out of control, and if your ability to stay in the country was hanging on by a tenuous thread before, there was no way the Ambassador would let you stay now if she found out about what had transpired last night. Steve and Carrillo’s pleading would not convince her this time, but on the other hand, if something were to happen to you and it was revealed that they knew about Peña’s escalating interest in you, both of their careers would be on the line.

“I’ve gotta tell you,” Steve said, looking up from his desk to finally meet your gaze, “I honestly have no clue what to do here. If Peña had made some kind of overt threat towards you, we could work with that. But this...I have absolutely no idea.”

That wasn’t comforting in the slightest, but it wasn’t meant to be. You were slightly reassured, though, that Steve was being honest with you.

“Maybe we can call Carrillo? He might have some ideas.”

Steve sighed.

“Well we definitely need to tell him, but I don’t think he’s going to be any more helpful. It’s not like there’s a manual for this sort of thing.”

You exhaled and looked up at the ceiling of the dingy office the DEA had shoved you in. If Steve was fresh out of ideas, and Carrillo wouldn’t be able to do anything, then that really left you with only one option.

“Maybe I should just go home then,” you said, your voice sounding smaller than you intended, “It’s not like I’m all that vital to operations down here. You took down Escobar, you’re way more valuable than me. I’m not in too deep with García either. I could stop that operation right now and walk away.”

Steve glared at you.

“No, absolutely not. I don’t want to hear that kind of bullshit, you’re staying right here,” he hissed.

“No, Steve. This whole charade is going to cause more problems. He knows where I live—where _we live_. How can you protect Connie if you have a criminal lurking outside your apartment building?”

“How about you let me worry about that?” Steve said, “You’re just as important to this mission as I am. Hell, _you_ are the Spanish speaker of the two of us. I’ve been here two years and still haven’t learned the damn language.”

“Well that’s because you don’t even try, Murph.”

Steve rolled his eyes at that one, but deep down, he knew he deserved it.

“Look, point is, you can’t leave. If you leave, these assholes win. We can’t let them chase out one of the best agents the DEA has to offer. We need you down here. Carrillo would be absolutely pissed to hell if you got sent home, so let’s just go over to the police base right now and talk to him.”

“I don’t know, Murph. I mean...Peña’s just trying to get under my skin, right? Do you think if I ignore him and stop answering his phone calls, he’ll get bored and go away eventually? Maybe he will just return to having his _sicarios_ shoot at us.”

Steve sighed and looked at you with a concerned expression.

“Kiddo,” he began, and you rolled your eyes at the nickname (you and Murphy were the same age, goddammit), “I think this thing with Peña is more complicated than that—”

“No shit, Murph.”

“Let me finish,” Steve demanded, “What I mean is that it’s more complicated than you’re willing to admit. I don’t know much about Peña, but if he’s anything like Escobar, he never does anything without a _reason_. And perhaps, in Peña’s case, the reason doesn’t necessarily need to be for his immediate financial benefit or security. Not once, in any of his phone calls has he asked you about your job?”

“—Well—he used to—but not recently, no.”

“Has he asked you any kind of probing questions? Ones whose answers may inadvertently cause you to give up any vital information?”

“Uh, no.”

“And he didn’t snipe you yesterday when he asked you to step out onto your balcony—which was probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, what the hell were you thinking?”

“No...he didn’t snipe me.”

“He just wanted to see you, am I correct?”

“So it would seem.”

Steve sighed and pulled a pack of cigarettes out from his desk. He pulled one out, but didn’t light it, instead he twisted the cigarette between his fingers, very pointedly not looking at you.

“Kiddo, I think this guy has developed some... _feelings_ for you.”

You stared at Murphy as if he had grown three heads.

  
“That’s absolutely ridiculous, Murph, why the hell would you even think that?” 

Steve raised an eyebrow, continuing to fiddle with the cigarette.

“Think about it. What kind of _narco_ would even bother, let alone go out of his way, to protect a law enforcement officer? Particularly one that happens to be constantly on his ass?”

You frowned at that.

“Protect me? I don’t know what you mean there, Steve.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, you remember the _comuna_ raid we did? Just before you accepted the mission from Stecher? During that dry spell where Peña didn’t talk to you.”

“Sure, what about it?”

Steve barked out a harsh laugh.

“What _about_ it? You nearly got your head blown off on that raid.”

You really didn’t need the reminder. You remembered perfectly well what happened, and it was probably the closest call you had had in Colombia. You had been chasing a pair of _sicarios_ up a narrow staircase, and hadn’t been paying attention when you rounded one of the landings. One _sicario_ had stayed back and hid behind a wall. When you showed, he came out and pistol whipped you right in the head, the force of it sending you backwards and down a few stairs. The hit dazed you for a good several seconds, which gave the _sicario_ all the time he needed to aim his gun at your head—and at that close of a range, there was no way for him to _miss_.

However, your saving grace had come in the form of the second _sicario_ who had doubled back upon finding out that his partner was not behind him. The second guy had screamed at the first guy when he saw the scene in front of him.

_“¡Qué haces, qué haces, qué haces, pendejo!”_ the guy had shouted, your _sicario’s_ gun faltering as he regarded his friend, _“Es la mujer! El patrón nos dijo que no la tocamos!”_ **(What are you doing, idiot? It’s the woman! The boss said we can’t touch her!)**

And with that, the shouting _sicario_ had grabbed his partner’s arm and forcefully shoved him up the stairs. The exchange made fuck all sense at the time, and you thought that you had misheard him, which was understandable given the blinding headache you had had. But Trujillo, who had come bounding up the stairs after you, had heard the entire exchange, which he eventually told you about after he took you to a medic to get your head wound looked at. While it had surprised you, you hadn’t thought much of it, and had instead taken the opportunity to be grateful that you had gotten out of that situation alive.

“It was only by the grace of Javier Peña that you didn’t die that day,” Steve said, his voice pulling you back to reality, “His men were ordered to leave you alone on raids. Escobar _never_ did that. He would kill any cop he could get his hands on. American or Colombian. All I’m saying is that you’ve caught the attention of Peña, in a much different way than you’ve been assuming.”

You really didn’t know how to respond to that. If you supposed for a moment that Steve was right, then this situation had been out of your control for a while. If Peña had... _feelings_...for you (the whole thing seemed so ridiculous, you could barely think about it), then he wasn’t going to stop contacting you any time soon. Especially if he genuinely wanted to get closer to you.

But it didn’t make sense. Peña wasn’t a stupid man. He knew you were a cop, and that your loyalty was to your country and to the DEA. Your one and only mission, your only reason for being in this country to begin with, was to catch him and put him behind bars. If he thought that his—midnight _serenades_ —were going to make a lick of difference, than he was too stupid to be a _narco_.

“I still don’t buy it, Steve,” you said, “I still think this is all some elaborate plot to get me to make a mistake that he can capitalize on.”

Steve shrugged his shoulders.

“Whatever you say, kiddo,” he said, “But I’ll tell you this. Despite what Carrillo would have you believe, _narcos_ are people too, capable of the full range of human emotions. Escobar himself, at the end of the day, was a family man. Everything he did in his final months was to protect his family. Frankly, following Tata Escobar and her kids to Germany and hearing the terror in her voice as she spoke to her husband was the closest I had gotten to seeing his human side. It was reserved for very few people, but it existed. So while it may sound ridiculous, it’s not inconceivable.”

You sighed and rubbed at your eyes.

“I don’t know, Steve, I really don’t know.”

“Well, let’s just see what he does over the course of the next few days,” Steve mumbled, “Let’s do an experiment. Try your best to avoid talking to him if you can. See if he gets bored. If he does have feelings for you, like I think, then he’ll be a possessive little bastard, and he won’t leave you alone until you’ve at least said ‘hello’ to him.”

You drummed your fingers on your desk for a few moments before nodding.

“And what if you’re right?” you said, “What if he does actually have feelings for me?”

Steve looked at you with a hard gaze.

“Well then, kiddo, we’re going to have to have a serious conversation about that, now won’t we?”

.

.

.

.

.

“You are staying with me for the rest of the week.”

“Carrillo, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“It’s non-negotiable, you are staying with me. If your government’s idea of protecting one of their most valuable employees is to just send her back to the States without getting to the root of the problem, then I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands.”

You sighed and dropped your head into your hands. You scrubbed your hands over your face before regarding Carrillo, who for the first time was acting in his capacity as both the head of Search Bloc and overprotective friend.

“Horacio,” you said, keeping your voice low, “That’s very, very kind of you, but I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

Carrillo placed his hands on his desk, leaning forward to glare at you.

“And how do you propose to resolve the situation? If you go to your ambassador to request resources, you know she will just send you home, claiming that protecting you is not worth the risk. It would jeopardize everything you have been working on for the past year and a half. Am I wrong?”

“No. No, you’re not wrong. It’s just that—well, I can always just get a hotel. Stay there for a few days until I figure out what to do.”

Carrillo rolled his eyes, no doubt about to give you another lecture.

“They can find you in a hotel,” Carrillo argued.

“Then they can find me at your house just as well,” you countered, “And I won’t let you put Juliana and the kids at risk because of me. That’s not fair to them.”

Carrillo sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“They’ll be fine,” he said, “I sent them to live with Juliana’s parents outside of Bogotá last week. I did the same when things started to heat up with Escobar. They are safe. It would just be the two of us.” 

You faltered for a bit, tempted by his offer, especially since that you wouldn’t be putting his family in immediate danger.

“This is still a generous offer,” you said, “I don’t want to impose, really. You shouldn’t have to risk your life for me.”

Carrillo’s face softened and he regarded you for a moment before answering.

“You came to Colombia and are currently risking your life to help me defeat this _hijo de puta_. The least I can do, as a senior officer of the Colombian National Police, is ensure the safety of my colleague—and my friend.”

You smiled softly at that. You and Carrillo had been friends for a while, even though the initial few months of your acquaintance had been rocky with him being inherently mistrustful of every American agent sent to Colombia. He was always so unflappably professional, sometimes to the point of coldness, so it was nice to be reminded every once in a while that he held you in very high regard.

Once you eventually finished your job in Colombia and returned to the States, you would definitely miss Carrillo.

“Ok,” you said after a few minutes, “If they’re following me, they’ll know what my car looks like. We’d have to be careful getting to your place.

  
Carrillo nodded.

“I know, so here’s what you’ll do. Go home, pack what you need for a week, and then come back to base. Leave your car here so he will think you’re staying here overnight and can’t get to you. I’ll drive you in one of the unmarked sedans.”

You nodded, agreeing to the plan, but then frowned, remembering something that could blow this entire operation to shit.

“Wait,” you mumbled, “García. He has my phone number. If he tries to call, I won’t be around to answer the phone—which would be a problem.”

Carrillo huffed and dragged a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t think about that,” he acquiesced, “I suppose you could use the secured landline I have. You can call him and make some excuse as to why you’re not staying your apartment?”

“Sure,” you agreed, “I can say a pipe burst, and I’ll have to stay with a friend for a few days.”

Carrillo nodded.

“Good, do that tomorrow morning. You’re still supposed to be seeing him this Friday, yes?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Ok, you’ll have to plan to head back to your apartment after you meet him...just in case he decides to have someone follow you home too.”

You groaned and leaned back in your chair. Was there nowhere you could go without the prying eyes of _narcos_?

“It’s not so much García that I’m worried about,” you said, “It’s the damn CIA agents who will be monitoring me. I can’t risk word of what’s going on with Peña getting back to Stechner.”

Carrillo sighed and pulled out a cigarette, clearly deciding that waiting for his customary smoke-break wasn’t worth it.

“Murphy’s going to be joining the surveillance team on Friday, yes?”

You nodded.

“Ok,” Carrillo continued, “We’ll just have to have him keep an eye out for Peña as well. You said Peña has a red car? You didn’t happen to note a license plate, did you?’

You just raised your eyebrow in response to that. Carrillo gave a low chuckle at your expression. Of course you didn’t get a plate number, that would have been too easy.

“No of course not,” Carrillo sighed, “Here’s what we will do. Bring your spare key, and I’ll send Trujillo over there later to install a tap on your phone, accessible only by me...”

“Well that makes _two_ tapped landlines that I have. This just keeps getting better.”

Carrillo just gave you an exasperated look.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, and Carrillo rolled his eyes.

“It will allow us to monitor him as best we can,” Carrillo explained, “I haven’t ordered one yet out of respect for your privacy, and to keep your embassy from getting suspicious, but I’m afraid I have no choice now. You understand that, yes?”

“Yeah, yeah I understand,” you said, resigning yourself to the fact that what little privacy you did have just got flushed down the toilet.

“On Friday when you are out with García, I’ll have Trujillo stake out your apartment. I’ll relieve him of duty when you are finished with your...date...and see if Peña decides to show up. Since Murphy will be with you, and I’m not allowed near your CIA’s illustrious operations, this is the best we can do to keep you safe while monitoring Peña.”

You nodded, liking the plan.

“Ok, great. I’ll feel better knowing one of you guys is outside my apartment when I’m there.”

Carrillo gave you a tired smile and took a drag from his cigarette.

“Don’t worry, _compañera_ , we’ll catch this bastard soon. And then you can get some sleep.”

You sincerely hoped that would be the case. 

.

.

.

.

.

_“¿Por qué no contesta su teléfono?”_ **(Why won’t she answer her phone?)** Javier growled darkly as he picked up his phone, yet again, and aggressively punched in your number, frowning once more when it rolled to your answering machine.

He glanced over at the clock on his wall, showing that the time was 12:30am. You _had_ to be at home and there was definitely no way you were asleep yet—your mind was way too active for you to be going to bed before midnight. And even if by some remarkable chance you were asleep, he’d just called you _three times_ —there’s no way you would have slept through _that_. It was Wednesday—day two of unanswered calls from you, which had him very concerned. Normally, you always answered your phone, especially when you knew it was him. Which meant there were only two reasons as to why you weren’t returning his calls.

Either you were ignoring him or you weren’t home.

And Javier could not decide which one he liked the least.

Javier forcefully threw himself onto his office couch and lit a cigarette, contemplating what he was going to do next. Obviously, you weren’t ignoring him, he decided. You had always answered his phone calls, even if you knew that the only thing the calls would serve would be to piss you off. You wanted to know what he was up to, even if he drove you crazy. And given the way he behaved on Monday evening, showing up outside of your apartment, Javier knew that you would be the type of person to want to know everything he was up to. So that led him then to the conclusion that you weren’t at home.

If you weren’t at home, then where in the _hell_ were you? And why hadn’t anyone informed him that you had gone somewhere other than your apartment? What if...what if you had been sent back to the States?

Javier sucked in a breath at the thought. The thought of you leaving Colombia to go back to your home country, far from his reach—the fact that he would probably never see you again—no. No that couldn’t be. You were too important to the DEA.

No...no you couldn’t have been sent back. _Especially_ not without him knowing. He simply would not allow it.

“Diego!” Javier shouted, knowing that his second-in-command wouldn’t be too far away. And sure enough, the young man came running into the office, face flushed from exertion.

_“Sí, patrón,”_ Diego greeted.

_“La mujer de la DEA. ¿Dónde está?”_ **(The woman from the DEA, where is she?)** Javier asked, annoyance clouding his tone. He did not like being kept in the dark on anything. Especially if it had to do with you.

Diego frowned, confused.

_“En su apartamento, creo,”_ **(In her apartment, I think)** Diego responded, scratching his head.

Javier raised his eyebrows and stared at his second, relishing in the way that he could still make Diego squirm even after all of his years of service.

_“¿Tú lo crees o tú lo sabes?”_ **(Do you think that or do you know it?)** Javier asked, rubbing his chin and continuing to stare at Diego.

_“Eh, un momento, por favor, patrón, voy a averiguar,”_ **(Uh, just a moment, please, boss, I’ll find out)**. And with that, Diego darted out of the room, presumably to make a few phone calls and shout at the _sicarios_ assigned to tail you.

Javier rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette, hoping the nicotine will take the edge off of the anxiety he was feeling, allowing him to be a bit more composed in front of his men. He took a deep breath and stared out the window at the night scene displayed before him. Bogotá was beautiful at night, nestled in the shadow of the mountains and illuminated by the street lights. Although Javier did not live in the city itself—it was too dangerous—he had made sure that his estate wasn’t far. He couldn’t stray too far from his hometown.

He took another drag from his cigarette, feeling his nerves calm, and he steeled himself for whatever news Diego was bringing as he rushed back into the room five minutes later.

_“Patrón, pensamos que ella todavía está en la comisaría. Su carro está allí y nadie la vio saliendo durante toda la semana,”_ **(Boss, we think she is still at the police station. Her car is there and nobody saw her leaving the entire week.)** Diego said, and Javier raised his eyebrows at that.

_“¿Nadie la vio?”_ Javier asked, incredulously, _“¿Durante toda la semana?”_ **(Nobody has seen her for the whole week?)**

Diego shook his head, and Javier groaned in annoyance. So you were hiding in the police station. Smart. He couldn’t touch you while you were there. At least for now.

_“Vete,”_ **(Leave)** Javier said, dismissing Diego who nodded and quickly left the room.

Sighing, Javier picked up the phone, intending to call the anonymous tip line set up by the police to hopefully solicit information from the locals about his whereabouts. Hopefully you would finally answer his calls if you believed that it was someone calling with legitimate information. What could be more legitimate than information coming from the source itself?

Double checking that his line was secured, he dialed the number and waited a few moments before a pleasant female voice spoke to him, politely.

_“Policía Nacional de Colombia,”_ the woman answered, _“¿Tiene usted algo para contestar?”_ **(Do you have anything to report?)**

_“Señora, buenas noches,”_ Javier said, politely, figuring it would do no good to be rude to the poor secretary who had been conscripted to work the night shift, _“Quisiera hablar con una americana, por favor. Específicamente, la agente en la DEA.”_ **(Good evening, ma’am. I’d like to speak with an American, please. Specifically the female DEA agent.)**

_“Perdón, señor, pero la agente se fue. No está aquí.”_ **(Forgive me, sir but the agent has left. She isn’t here)**

Javier balked at the response.

_What?_

_“Regresará mañana, creo. Puedo enviarla un mensaje, o usted puede llamarla mañana.”_ **(She’ll be back tomorrow, I believe. I can send her a message or you can call back tomorrow morning.)**

_Where the hell were you?_

Javier took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

_“No es necesario, señora, llamaré más tarde. Gracias por su ayuda.”_ **(That’s not necessary, ma’am. I’ll call back later. Thank you for your help)**

_“Por supesto, señor. Buenas noches.”_ **(Of course, sir. Good night.)**

Javier slammed the phone down and gripped the edge of his desk hard. If you weren’t at your apartment, and you weren’t at the base then _where the fuck were you?_ And how had you managed to leave to go somewhere without him finding out?

Diego was going to be hearing about this in the morning.

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.

Contrary to what you had been expecting, Pablo García was exactly the kind of man that a woman could take home her to very conservative, Catholic parents. At least, that was the persona that he presented. As it turned out, your date with the guy hadn’t gone as disastrously as you had been anticipating. He was a charming individual—funny, attentive, and seemed to like you. So at least that part had been going well.

You hadn’t anticipated actually _enjoying_ his company, which made you feel slightly guilty about what you were going to do to him later.

But only _slightly._

He was still a Cali Cartel bastard after all. He made more money in one day than your entire net worth, so he could handle a heartbreak or two.

You had to admit though, the apparent domesticity of most of the _narcos_ was something you were trying to get used to. What kind of criminals actually _wanted_ to have a wife and kids? The only one that you had met who seemed to scoff at the idea was Javier Peña, who remained the eternal bachelor. But at least _that_ made sense. This wasn’t a lifestyle that was conducive with having a family.

But the Gentlemen of Cali had a reputation that needed to be maintained, and for them that, apparently, meant having a wife and kids. The whole notion baffled you a little bit, but at the moment, that mentality was helping you out greatly. García was a straightforward and blunt individual, and he made no bones about the fact that he was looking to settle down. And by that he meant that he was looking for someone whom he could spoil and trust to keep her trap shut about where the money was coming from.

You could read between the lines.

If you were a more shallow individual, maybe you would be tempted to say “fuck the CIA” and legitimately marry this rich asshole so you could play a game with yourself about how long it would take to bankrupt him. But alas, you were a DEA agent, and you had one purpose at being here. To get close enough to García to start combing through his records and seeing what you could find. Thankfully, after tonight, it didn’t seem as though this would be too hard to accomplish. García seemed thoroughly entranced by you, and after your dinner date, he asked if you would join him for brunch on Sunday. You were really hoping to get a breather from all things _narco_ this weekend, but alas, such was the danger of being married to your job.

Figuratively and now literally, with the way things were going.

True to their word, Carrillo and Trujillo had been monitoring your apartment parking lot during the entire time you had been on your date. They had reported nothing out of the ordinary, and when you got home, Carrillo stayed in his car, continuing to observe your building, for another few hours. At about 1am, he decided that it was time to call it a night. If Peña was going to show up or call, he would have done so by now. You sent Carrillo home with the leftovers from your expensive meal with García as a “thank you” and watched him drive off from your window.

Unfortunately, only about half an hour after Carrillo had left and right about the time you were heading to bed, your phone rang.

Shit.

Peña must have been watching you more carefully than you had anticipated. Which means he knew about Carrillo and Trujillo staking out your apartment. But if he was calling you, then he must not know about the wire-tap the two had installed the day prior.

Ok. Maybe you could work with this.

Tentatively, you picked up the receiver and placed it to your ear. You barely had a chance to formulate a greeting when an angry voice growled at you through the line.

_“Where have you been?”_

Straight to English. No formalities. Oh boy. He was pissed.

“Uh...what?” you responded, taken aback by the hostility in his tone.

“I said, _where have you been?_ Or do you no longer understand your own language?”

Jesus.

“What are you talking about, Peña?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he growled, “I have been trying to reach you all week. Where have you been?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“At work,” you said, drolly, “Some of us have to make a living, you know.”

“Liar,” Peña hissed, “I called the base looking for you. They said you weren’t there.”

Oh shit.

You never thought that he was actually crazy enough to _call the police station_. Christ this man was coming unglued, and you don’t even know what you did wrong.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Peña,” you argued, knowing that this wasn’t the first time you used this line on him, “I’m an adult. What I do on my own time is nobody’s business. _Especially_ yours.”

A humorless laugh rang through the line.

“None of my business, is it? It is absolutely my business when your free time involves flirting with a member of the Cali Cartel. I’m sure your superiors would _love_ to know how you spend your Friday evenings.”

You narrowed your eyes, nostrils flaring. This fucking asshole.

“Are you _threatening_ me, Peña?”

“Well that depends, _querida._ ”

“On what exactly?”

“On what you think you are doing, meeting up with someone like Pablo García? And don’t play coy with me, I know you know who he is.”

You smacked your head against the wall. This conversation had just gone from bad to worse, and you had no idea how you’d lost control of the situation this quickly.

“And what makes you think I’ll tell you anything?”

“Because if you don’t, your superiors will find out just how _involved_ you’ve been with me.”

_What the fuck was that supposed to mean?_ You were being harassed by _him_! You consented to none of this bullshit.

“How do you plan to accomplish that, exactly?” you growled. You heard Peña chuckle again, and you wanted nothing more than to reach through the phone and strangle him.

“You’re not the only who knows how to record phone conversations, _querida_.”

_Fuck_.

Did this mean Peña had a recording of _every single conversation_ you’ve had with him? It’s true, nothing you said in these conversations was very incriminating, but the fact that you’ve entertained him for this long would be enough to throw your entire conduct into suspicion. You weren’t kidding when you told Steve that the ambassador would have you on the next plane to the States faster than you could blink. And that was only if she thought that you were trying to ignore Peña’s harassment. If she found out that you had actually been responding to his calls—your career could be in jeopardy. Everything you had worked for would be taken behind the barn and shot to death.

Fuck this piece of shit. Damn him straight to hell.

Carrillo was right. He had always been right. There was nothing redeemable about men like Peña. He wanted something from you, and had been biding his time. Now he had just enough evidence to have you sent to the gallows if you weren’t careful.

“What do you want from me?” you asked.

Peña paused for a moment, as if contemplating his next question.

“What is García doing in Bogotá?” he asked, his voice softening slightly from before.

You frowned at the question.

“Frankly, Peña, I was hoping _you_ could tell me.”

“And why would I be able to do that?”

“Because I thought he was here in Bogotá to meet with _you_. I just haven’t figured out _why_.”

Another silence.

“No,” Peña said, sounding shocked, “No, he is not here to meet with me. I have not met with him, nor do I intend to.”

Well that was _news_. And there was no reason for you _not_ to believe him. If Peña knew why García was here, he certainly wouldn’t be pulling this stunt of trying to blackmail a law enforcement officer.

“If he’s not here to negotiate with you,” you started, “Then why _is_ he here?”

Peña sighed.

“That, _querida_ , is what you are going to have find out, now isn’t it? It seems you have your work cut out for you.”

You took a deep breath and were about to respond before Peña interrupted.

“You will keep me informed of what you find. If you don’t, the consequences will be...severe. I will call you again at this same time next week. You will tell me what you’ve found.”

You clenched your fists, ready to punch something.

“Oh and _querida_?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Please be careful,” Peña said, softly, the tone of his voice almost soothing, “And don’t you dare ignore my calls ever again.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. You wanted to respond, but you didn’t know how. But thankfully Peña had decided that this conversation was over.

_“Buenas noches, mi cielo,”_ Peña said before hanging up the phone.

You stared at the receiver, listening to the dial tone, trying desperately to calm your breathing. You could feel your entire world collapsing around you, and you weren’t sure what you could do to stop it.

  
And the craziest part was, despite the fact that you wanted to strangle Peña for trying to blackmail you, you weren’t quite as scared as you probably should be. Peña may be a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar. He had kept you out of harm’s way so far, and he seemed very intent on doing it again. Perhaps he could keep you safe from Pablo García, allowing you to take more risks and get more valuable information. Perhaps this situation truly wasn’t as bad as it could be.

Maybe, just maybe, you could turn this potential blackmailing episode into a tentative partnership.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Let us not forget that Javi is still a criminal at the end of the day. As always, please let me know what you think! Also if you prefer tumblr, I'm slowing migrating my stuff over there. Please come check out my writing blog @maharani-radha-writes


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh guys, I think you're going to hate me for this one.

Javier Peña pulled into the dark alleyway behind your apartment complex and killed the ignition of his car. He took a few moments to stare down the street, watching as the people who worked late night shifts started to file off to their jobs while those who worked normal hours went home. The alleyway itself wasn’t very crowded, only about a handful of people were taking out the garbage or using the back entrances to enter their apartments. The embassy-issued apartments were very nice, but from the outside, the building was quite nondescript, built for the sole purpose of blending into the background within the rest of Bogotá’s residential buildings. It was a clever move on the part of the Americans to try to obscure the location in which their agents were housed. However, it was only a matter of time before the persistence of the _narcos_ outweighed any efforts the Americans made to protect their employees.

What pissed Javier off the most about the situation was that it wasn’t him who had figured out where you lived. It was actually the Ochoa’s. Yes, Javier had tails on you, but you were quite clever at figuring out how to avoid them. Instead of having you followed, Jorge Ochoa had taken the easier, but more dangerous, route and paid off a secretary in the American embassy to hand over yours and Murphy’s complete personnel files—which not only included your Colombian address, it contained your American address, employment history, next of kin—everything (Peña had been very but pleasantly surprised at the amount of redacted information in your file…no doubt the _real_ file was sitting in a secured vault in Washington).

When Ochoa had first mentioned to Javier that he had gotten ahold of your personnel file, and subsequently, your Colombian address, Javier wasn’t proud to admit that he had lost his shit. Thankfully he had refrained from blowing up at Ochoa, but he was very close. Javier really didn’t have much of a leg to stand on—after all, he had managed to get your telephone number by paying a _Nacional_ officer to break into Carrillo’s office and rifle through his Rolodex, which contained your landline number for obvious reasons. But to go so far as to bribe (or rather, blackmail) an American secretary? Ochoa was really quite crazy. Not even Javier had the guts to touch an embassy employee, even with a ten-foot pole. 

Except you of course. But you were different. You kind of asked for this by joining the DEA. The secretary had not.

Javier had paid Ochoa an absolute _shit ton_ of money for all of the copies he had made of your personnel file (which, according to Diego, the master spy, was a grand total of one, because Ochoa was an idiot) and a promise that he would _never_ act on that information without Javier’s permission, _on pain of death_.

Not in so many words, of course, but the implication was clear.

Javier then took the _single copy_ of your file (and Steve’s, but he really didn’t give two shits about Steve), memorized it, and then promptly shredded it and burned the remains. Ochoa, for his part, didn’t seem all that broken up at the prospect of losing his lead on you, but to be fair, you weren’t after Ochoa. You were after Javier. And so long as Ochoa stayed in the shadows and did as Javier told him to, then you would have no reason to cause him problems, and by extension, Ochoa would leave you alone. The Ochoa brothers were like wasps in this respect—they had some mean ass stingers, but if you left them alone, they generally left you alone too. And this was exactly what Javier was counting on.

So far, Javier was the only one with any kind of information about your personal life, and he absolutely intended to keep it that way. Not even Diego knew where you lived. Javier refused to let anyone know…he was a possessive fucker, always had been and was not afraid to admit it. While his _sicarios_ knew that he was keeping personal tabs on you, they all assumed that his surveillance was to keep you in check and prevent you from getting any closer than you were to his cartel. On the surface this behavior seemed in character, Javier was a massive control freak. But his _sicarios_ didn’t need to know that his interest in you had turned personal a long time ago.

Javier lifted the receiver of his car phone, listening to the dial tone for a minute before hanging up again and staring at your window. He was supposed to call you again for an update on how things were progressing between you and Pablo García. For the past several weeks, he had been calling you every Friday night to ask for intel, and so far, you hadn’t turned up anything noteworthy—García wasn’t a top-level Cali _sicario_ for nothing. It would take him a long time to vet the woman he was courting before considering taking anything further. You were coming up on your three-month anniversary of seeing García, and he still hadn’t invited you to his home, always asking you to meet in neutral places such as restaurants, parks, coffee shops. On one notable occasion, García invited you to Mass with him. _Mass._ It was infuriating.

Javier was done lying to himself—watching you spend time with García, even if it was all an act, made his blood boil. He knew _why_ you had to do it, and frankly, your mission was helping him a ton. He hated to have to threaten you to get this kind of information. Truly, he did. But frankly, he needed that intel on García and Cali just as much as the DEA did, and it was the only way he could think of to keep you safe. He had spent years evading the DEA and the CIA—he knew how they operated. If one of their agents were to be severely compromised, they would disavow them without question, leaving them to rot in whatever fresh hell the enemies came up with. At least with him demanding weekly phone calls from you, he could monitor your progress, and if you missed one, he could call in the cavalry. A cavalry that would better equipped to get you out of any situation than your own government.

He was tired of denying it to himself. He had feelings for you— _strong ones_. Javier didn’t know if he could put a label on them yet, and he certainly didn’t know how he had ended up in this situation in the first place. All he knew was that he was a passionate man, and when it came to matters of the heart, he typically leapt before he looked. Within just a few short months, the two of you will have personally known each other for a year, which frankly made this the longest relationship Javier has had with a woman for over twenty years.

He wasn’t stupid—you would likely never return his feelings, and he knew that. If anything, you would probably be disgusted to find out about them. He wouldn’t blame you if you were, and he certainly wouldn’t take it personally. He wasn’t the easiest person to be with, even before he became a _narco_. His ex-fiancé would no doubt have _a lot_ to say about what a piece of work he was—he _did_ leave her at the alter on their wedding day after all. After all that he’s done, all the blood he has on his hands, he would be completely astonished if a woman of your caliber and integrity would legitimately want to be with him.

And if on the off chance that were truly the case, he would probably ask you to see a therapist.

But despite all of this, it didn’t stop him from using these phone calls as a way to pretend. He could pretend that he wasn’t Javier Peña, the feared leader of the _Los Pepes_ cartel, and that you weren’t a DEA agent whose current life goal was to see him behind bars. Instead, he could fool himself into thinking, for however brief a time, that you were friends—or even on the verge of becoming something more. It didn’t matter. He just wanted to be part of your life, in a way that wasn’t totally negative. He hoped that maybe your non-business-related conversations provided a sense of escape for you too.

But that was wishful thinking. He wasn’t stupid.

Javier rested his forehead on the steering wheel and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to have to call you and listen to your stilted, emotionless report on Garcia. He would much rather just talk to you—to get to know you even better than he already did. He knew all of the facts of your life thanks to your personnel file, but he didn’t know the stories behind them. He wanted to ask you about where you grew up, what it was like, what your family was like. He wanted to know about your time serving in the Middle East, what you had done, what you had learned. But such a relationship wasn’t in the cards for a man like him.

He made his bed years ago. And now, he was finally lying in it.

It was just his rotten luck that the one woman he truly wanted, desired, and cared for was the one woman he genuinely _could not have_. He was suffering because of it, and there was nothing he could do.

He didn’t _want_ to do anything. You were his drug—more addictive than anything he could ever cook up in a lab.

He just couldn’t get enough.

The sound of someone knocking on his car window startled Javier. He lifted his head from the steering wheel, and immediately went for his weapon holstered under the dash. He relaxed slightly when he noticed the person at his window was an elderly woman, trying to get his attention. She was probably about to ask him to move his car.

He rolled down the driver’s side window and smiled politely.

_“Buenas noches, señora. ¿Todo bien?”_ **(Good evening, ma’am. Is everything alright?)** Javier asked.

_“Sí, mijo,”_ she replied, frowning, _“Te veo triste, mijo. ¿Está bien todo contigo?”_ **(Yes, dear. You look sad. Is everything alright with you?)**

****

Javier gave a small smile at her concern.

_“No estoy triste, señora.”_ **(I’m not sad, ma’am)**

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his shit.

_“No te creo, mijo. ¿Estás seguro de que estás bien?”_ **(I don’t believe you, dear. Are you sure you are okay?)**

Javier smiled again. The woman reminded him very much of his late mother, and for some reason, that comforted him a lot.

_“Sí, señora. Muchas gracias por su interés.”_ **(Yes, ma’am. Thank you very much for your concern)**

The woman didn’t look convinced, but thankfully didn’t push any further, and nodded.

_“Pues, por favor, cuídate, mijo. ¿Vale?”_ **(All right, but please take care of yourself, my dear. Ok?)**

_“Sí, señora.”_

Javier watched as the woman walked out of the alleyway. It had been a long time since anyone had expressed such genuine concern over his wellbeing. Well, actually, that wasn’t entirely true. The last person to ask how he was doing was _you_.

Maybe…

Perhaps…there was something there?

_What the hell?_ Javier thought.

He picked up the phone and called you.

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.

Bill Stechner entered the seedy bar in Cali and took a seat closest to the back of the establishment. He sat facing the door, a classic move taught in basic training, ordered an old-fashioned, and waited for his contact to arrive. Stechner had arrived at the bar early on purpose so he could get the lay of the land. He had been to Cali only a handful of times, and he was still trying to understand the city. Normally he had agents he could send all over creation to do his dirty work for him. Very rarely did a piece of intel require him to travel himself. It was one of the perks—or drawbacks, depending on how you looked at it—of being the boss.

After about half an hour of him sitting in the bar, slowly sipping at his cocktail and people watching, a man entered the bar that Stechner immediately recognized. His sat up straight and made contact with the man, who gave a slight nod and nonchalantly approached Stechner’s table, sitting a few seats away to make it seem as though they didn’t know each other. The man ordered a beer from a passing waitress and tilted his head slightly, regarding Stechner.

_“Señor Stechner,”_ he said, “I must admit, I never thought I would have the chance to meet you in person.”

Stechner grinned and regarded the man, Jorge Cabrera, the head of security of the Cali Cartel.

“Señor Cabrera,” Stechner replied, relishing in the cringe Jorge gave at Stechner’s accent. Stechner could speak good Spanish if he wanted to, he just never cared to.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” Stechner continued, “I suppose I have you to thank for all of the…help that the CIA has been receiving thus far.”

Cabrera nodded.

“I handle all of Cali’s security matters,” he said, “And that includes meetings with government officials. Be it our government or yours.”

Stechner chuckled.

“Well, let me tell you, Señor, I’m quite unlike any government official that you have ever met,” he replied, giving Cabrera a Chesire-cat grin.

Cabrera sighed.

“I will admit, you are most certainly not the norm,” Cabrera acknowledged, “Your tactics are…how shall I say…unorthodox.”

Stechner laughed again.

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Cabrera turned to face Stechner head on and frowned.

“I can assure you, Mr. Stechner, it was not meant to be,” he retorted, “Now if you’ll follow me, sir, _el patrón le está esperando_.” **(The boss is expecting you)**

Stechner raised his eyebrows.

“At least finish your drink, Señor Cabrera, I insist.”

Cabrera rolled his eyes.

“The boss will not be kept waiting _por una cerveza, Señor Stechner. Sígame por favor._ ” **(The boss won’t be kept waiting because of a beer, Mr. Stechner. Follow me please)**

Stechner shrugged and followed Cabrera outside the bar where another Cali _sicario_ was waiting in front of a parked, inconspicuous SUV. The _sicario_ held a black cloth cover in his hands, which Stechner noticed and then began to chuckle.

“And how do I know that you boys aren’t just going to off me the second I step inside that car?” he asked, smirking.

Cabrera sighed, and opened the door to the backseat for Stechner.

“You’ve made a deal with the _Caballeros de Cali_ , Mr. Stechner,” he said, gesturing towards the backseat of the car with his palm open, “So long as you honor your part of the deal, we shall honor ours.”

It wasn’t the most reassuring thing in the world, but Stechner supposed he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Alright then, gentlemen,” he said, “Take me to your _patrón_.”

And with that, the other _sicario_ gently placed the black bag over Stechner’s head and guided him into the backseat of the SUV, shutting the door firmly behind him.

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_“Patrón!”_

The shout came from the first floor and was swiftly followed by a harsh knock, startling Javier Peña. It was a rare night for him—he had been sitting in his bed, reading glasses perched on his nose, for once actually taking the time to enjoy a book. But unfortunately, despite his desires, a quiet evening was once again not in the cards for him. Javier placed the book on his nightstand and took off his reading glasses, rubbing at his eyes.

_“Adelante,”_ **(Come in)** he grumbled, watching as Diego opened the bedroom door, shutting it quickly. Diego had known Javier for over fifteen years and was subsequently the only person (besides his women of the night—who he had stopped seeing a while ago) that he trusted enough to let into his bedroom.

_“Patrón,”_ Diego said, panting, clearly trying hard to catch his breath. Javier frowned at the state of his second-in-command. He could count on one hand the number of times Diego had to speak to him about something so urgently.

_“Sí, Diego, ¿qué pasó?”_ **(Yes, Diego, what happened?)**

Diego took a few deep breaths and cleared his breath before responding.

_“Patrón, acabamos de recibir una grabacíon de una conversación entre Pablo García y un agente que creemos que trabaja para la CIA.”_ **(Boss, we’ve just received a recording of a conversation between Pablo García and an agent that we think works for the CIA)**

Javier felt the blood rush from his face, hands clamming up as the implications of what Diego was saying roared through his mind.

_“¿Qué?”_ he hissed, _“¿Estás seguro, Diego? ¿Cómo averiguaste?”_ **(What? Are you sure, Diego? How did you find out?)**

Diego took another deep breath.

_“Patrón, Antonio estaba siguiendo uno de los agentes de la CIA que se llama algo como…eh…Christopher Sanderson, creo. El agente estaba monitoreando la mujer de la DEA cuando ella estaba en sus…eh…citas con García.”_ **(Boss, Antonio was following one of the agents from the CIA that’s called something like…uh…Christopher Sanderson, I think. The agent was monitoring the DEA woman when she was on her…dates with García)**

_“Dios mio, Diego, ¿qué más?”_ **(My god, Diego, what else?)**

_“El agente Sanderson se reunió con García en un bar esta tarde. Antonio escuchó un parte de su conversacíon,”_ Diego replied, _“Pues…la conversación fue en inglés y Antonio no podía entenderlo, pero todavía lo grabó. Lo tengo aquí.”_ **(Agent Sanderson met with García in a bar this evening. Antonio heard a part of their conversation. But the conversation was in English, and Antonio couldn’t understand it, but he recorded it anyway. I have it here)**

Diego held up a tape recording to Javier, who nodded.

_“Juégalo.”_ **(Play it)**

Diego nodded and pushed the tape into the speaker system that Javier had set up on the other side of the room. The recording wasn’t great, and Javier could hear a lot of background noise—clearly Antonio had trouble getting close enough to the source to get a clear recording. But the fact that he had the foresight to record the conversation at all, even if it was only a part of it, was already groundbreaking enough. Javier would have to thank Antonio profusely, even if there wouldn’t be any useful information that came from the recording.

After a few more seconds of background noise, an unfamiliar American voice, presumably the CIA agent, sounded clearly.

_“—I have the documents here.”_

_“The ones against Peña?”_

That was Pablo García. Javier would recognize that slimeball anywhere.

_“Yeah, sorry it took so long, finding a decent, trustworthy forger isn’t easy.” Sanderson replied_

_“I see, I thought your government had infinite resources.”_

Javier couldn’t help but internally scoff at that one. Americans and their arrogance.

_“Well, we’ve had to keep this on the down-low, as you can imagine.”_

_“Sure,” García responded, “And your woman? She doesn’t suspect anything? I cannot tell.”_   
  


_“Oh, the DEA bitch? Nah, I doubt it. She’s not the brightest bulb.”_

Javier clenched his jaw so tightly that he was sure Diego could heard his teeth grinding.

_“I wouldn’t underestimate her,” García said, “You had best be careful.”_

_“I don’t think she’s much of a threat. Don’t worry about her,” Sanderson replied._

_“Either way, I like her,” García said, “Perhaps your boss would let me keep her when this is over?”_

Javier was about one more line of conversation away from smashing something.

_“I don’t think he will care, but I can certainly ask.”_

_“Please see that you do.”_

There was some static and suddenly nothing—clearly the recording had ended with Antonio’s ability to gather the rest of the conversation spent. Javier stood silently near the speaker, arms crossed, a dark look on his face, and Diego was worried about what he was going to do next. He had seen his boss lose his temper before, especially if it had to do with the DEA woman, and he was nervous about what was going to happen next.

Thankfully Javier seemed to have composed himself, and after taking a few deep breaths, he turned to Diego.

_“Muchas gracias, Diego. Voy a lidiar con esto. Por favor, continúa con el seguimiento de Sanderson. Necesitamos encontrar esos documentos que mencionó.”_ **(Thank you, Diego. I’ll deal with this. Please, continue following Sanderson. We need to find those documents he mentioned)**

_“Sí, patrón.”_

Once Diego left, Javier finally let loose. He grabbed a vase from a table near the window and threw it clean across the room, watching it smash against the door. He dropped to his knees, tangling his fingers in his hair, roughly pulling at the thick, brown curls.

He knew it. He _knew_ something was going to happen to you. The CIA was never up to any good, and once he had found out that you had agreed to seduce García for information, he knew that he had to get involved. To protect both you and his cartel. And clearly, he was right—the CIA was out to get him, and they must be using you. He wasn’t sure _how_ they intended to use you, but he was going to find out.

He needed to warn you. He needed to get you off of that mission. Obviously, you didn’t know about the CIA’s deal with García, otherwise, why would you have accepted the mission? To take him down? There were better ways of doing that that didn’t involve siding with Cali, which is something you wouldn’t do. He knew you wouldn’t stoop so low. Problem was, there was a large chance that you wouldn’t believe him, and why would you? These people were your own government after all. You had absolutely no reason to trust his word over theirs.

But he had to try. And he was going to warn you. But first, he needed to make another phone call.

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.

You entered your apartment, exhausted from another long day of pouring through phone records and wire tap transcripts. Today marked the official three-month anniversary of your “relationship” with García. The entire thing was going way too slowly, and you wondered if you would be dead before you managed to actually get into his house and start combing through his records. But as Steve had reminded you, relationships in real life take time, so why would you expect a fake one to be any different, especially if one party was seemingly unaware of what was going on?

Steve was right of course. And while you hadn’t gotten any concrete evidence on García, you had learned a lot about him. For a _narco_ , García was very open. He talked a lot about his past, his family, and his friends. And even his coworkers. He gave some of his coworkers fake names, but some of them, you _did_ recognize. From your conversations, you were able to augment the Cali Cartel family tree that the CIA put together, which according to the surveillance guys, helped a lot when trying to figure out who to track next. In return, they sent you the wiretap transcripts that they had recorded along with a set of questions they wanted you to somehow work into your conversations. In short, the intel gathering was slow, but you were getting something useful. The mission wasn’t a complete waste of time and resources.

And then there was Peña. Every Friday, that fucker called you to ask for an update on the García situation, and every week you would have to inform him that you had no useful information to give him. He never seemed frustrated by it—in fact he seemed relieved that he didn’t have to spend too much time talking to you about García. The first few weeks of his weekly update calls were stiff. After all, he was technically threatening you, and you really didn’t want to entertain him longer than you needed to. But the problem was, Peña was genuinely an easy person to talk to.

One week, after a particularly frustrating set of dates where García revealed no useful information on the Cali Cartel, Peña had called, and you blew up at him.

_“Once again, I’ve got nothing, Peña,” you hissed, “Frankly, I’m at the point where I’m willing to just let you mail our recorded conversations to the ambassador and have me booted from Colombia, so I don’t have to continue talking to you about this stupid operation again.”_

_There was silence on the line. Well done, you thought, you’ve really fucked yourself now._

_“Querida,” Peña said softly, “This isn’t your fault. This wasn’t ever going to be a quick operation, and I don’t expect new information every week.”_

_That was…oddly nice of him…?_

_“I know you’ve probably found out more information about the Cali Cartel in general, just by reading subtext. You’re good at that,” Peña said, “I’m not asking for that information. I only ask for that which helps me directly. And if you don’t have anything…you don’t have anything. It’s as simple as that.”_

_“So, you’re not just going to pop off on me then?” you asked, “Can I trust you to at least be patient with me?”_

_“Yes, querida,” he said, “I’m sorry to put your job in danger like this. Truly, I am. But I have no choice. I must protect my business, surely you can understand that.”_

_“Yeah, I understand.”_

_“I haven’t recorded any more of our conversations,” Peña said, “And I won’t do so unless I sense you’re not holding up your end of the deal. If you act in good faith, I’ll deal with you in good faith.”_

_“Ok, fair enough.”_

_“Now get some sleep, I am sure you are tired,” he replied, “Rest now, and I’ll speak with you next week.”_

You sat down on your couch, next to the phone. It was almost midnight, meaning Peña would be calling you soon. He for some reason had forgotten to call you the week before, and it had surprised you. You’d waited up until 2am for a phone call from him and didn’t receive one. Technically, you had his phone number from the time you had first met, but you never once used it, and weren’t about to start now. It was odd—Peña’s calls were like clockwork, so him missing a call meant something had happened.

You were about to get up and make some tea when you heard your phone ring. Well, at least Peña wasn’t going to miss tonight’s phone conversation.

_“Querida,”_ he said immediately after you answered the call, his voice sounding incredibly frantic, “I don’t have much time, I have to tell you something.”

You frowned, what could Peña possibly have to tell you?

“What is it?”

“I’ll be quick, _mi cielo,_ but I need you—no, I implore you—to listen to me very carefully. You are in grave danger. And not from me or from the Ochoa’s. But from the CIA.”

Your eyes widened. What in the name of all that is good and holy?

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?” you hissed.

“ _Querida_ , I have evidence that the CIA has reached some kind of deal with the Cali Cartel.”

You felt your blood turn to ice.

Whatever this was, it was not going to be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the cliff hanger wasn't too bad!! Please let me know what you think!
> 
> I've also cross-posted this story on Tumblr @maharani-radha-writes. So if you like Tumblr and would like to come visit me there, please do!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh....if you didn't hate me before, you're definitely going to hate me now!

To say that Steve Murphy and Colonel Carrillo took the news you received from Peña the night before badly was the understatement of the fucking century. Thankfully Carrillo didn’t keep anything breakable in his office or Steve would have absolutely thrown whatever it was across the room to watch it shatter. Instead, he was currently sitting in a corner of Carrillo’s office, silently brooding while he chain-smoked.

Surprisingly, Steve _actually believed_ Peña, whereas Carrillo, in his infinite (and understandable) mistrust of _narcos_ disagreed vehemently, claiming that Peña was trying to stir the pot again.

As for you, well, you didn’t know _what_ to think. You had no reason to believe Peña—after all, everything he did was to further his own interests. He was incapable of caring for someone other than himself (or so you thought). But on the other hand, you really couldn’t think of a good reason _not_ to believe him. You and Peña had a tentative alliance. You fed each other intel about García, and while said intel wasn’t always productive, it was something. You both had an interest in seeing the Cali motherfuckers taken down.

What was the saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

But at the same time, while you didn’t like Stechner, you had no reason to believe that he would betray his own government like this. And to what end? The whole thing just made no damn sense.

“You said Peña had evidence?” Carrillo asked after a few moments of silence, “Did he give it to you?”

You scoffed.

“No of course not.”

Carrillo sighed.

“Well, at least tell me that he played you the recording.”

“Yes,” you mumbled. You had _no_ idea how Peña got ahold of a conversation between Chris Sanderson and Pablo García, and frankly, you really didn’t want to know.

“And?” Carrillo pressed, his irritation rising.

“Well, I could recognize García, but as for the agent in the recording…to be honest, the recording was so shit, I can’t be sure. I’ve only met Sanderson once, so I don’t remember what his voice sounds like. It could be him, but honestly, it could be anyone—anyone remotely connected to the mission. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Stechner is behind it,” you said.

Steve scoffed at that.

“No, Stechner is definitely behind this. He is a slimy-ass motherfucker. You’ve said so yourself before,” he grumbled, and you rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

“We don’t know that, Steve,” you hissed, “Stechner is a piece of shit, I agree with you there. But he’s _American_ like you and me. Why would he betray his own countrymen for the Cali Cartel? He’s supposed to go _after_ them.”

“I agree,” Carrillo mumbled, “Peña must have either made this conversation up, or you have a mole. In which case, I would take this to the CIA and let them handle it. And then you can stop the García case because he’s clearly onto you.”

“No, no, no, that’s not a good idea,” Steve growled, “It doesn’t matter if you stop the mission. Even if, as you say, Stechner is not part of some scheme and we _do_ have a mole, do you really think that García is going to let you go that easily?”

Carillo rolled his eyes.

“This isn’t your problem, is it? This is the CIA’s problem,” he grumbled, “Tell me, exactly, what was said in this conversation?”

You relayed the whole conversation to them as best as you could remember. After your tale, Carrillo raised his eyebrows, and Steve looked as though he was going to punch a wall.

“I fucking _told you_! García won’t let you go that easily. Fuck we are really up shit creek now, aren’t we? _Jesus. Fucking. Christ_ ,” he swore, tugging at his already disheveled strands of hair.

“Does that mean you believe Peña?” you asked, “Do you think we can trust him? Because honestly, at this point, I don’t know what to think.”

Carrillo took a deep breath, and stared at you, a sympathetic look on his face.

“Frankly, _compañera_ , you’re the one that knows him the best. You’re the one that has spent the most time with him. You’ve conversed with him in all different kinds of scenarios. That means that you’re the best one to make this call. So, do _you_ believe him?”

The room was dead silent as Steve and Carrillo looked at you, waiting for you to make your decision. You took a deep breath and sat down in one of Carrillo’s chairs, burying your face in your hands, trying to calm your racing mind.

There were _so many_ reasons to not trust Peña from a first-principle’s basis. First of all, he was a criminal, and you were a law enforcement officer. Your job, _your entire reason for being in Colombia_ , was to capture this guy and put him behind bars (a mission that, lately, you had to frequently remind yourself of). That alone should give you reason to toss out whatever this guy was saying and continue on with your operations.

But the problem was, Peña was not as black-and-white as Escobar had been. With Escobar, everything had been crystal clear. He was the bad guy and anyone trying to hunt him were, well, the good guys. Escobar blew up planes of civilians and killed cops at a rate of four hundred per year. He bombed civilian squares and conspired with communists to lay siege to the Palace of Justice. Some may have argued that he tried to help the poor citizens of Medellín by paying for the construction of low-income housing and schools. But it couldn’t be denied that Escobar was a Bad Guy. There was very little that was redeemable about him, especially in his later years as the cops began to close in on him.

Peña was a different beast altogether. He had told you from the beginning that he had gotten into drug trafficking for the money. And with that money, Peña had, like Escobar, built schools, neighborhoods, roads. Objectively, the people who lived in the communities he funded had a better life than they did before. He managed to evade the cops without killing them and bombing civilians (a low bar, but Escobar had set it, and Peña so far, had exceeded it). Sure, he got into violent turf wars with the Cali Cartel and other cartels, but he always kept civilian casualties to a minimum. Even Carrillo had admitted that he could count on one hand the number of innocent people that were killed by Peña’s actions.

Point being—Peña wasn’t a Good Guy. But he wasn’t a bad one either. He was a criminal, yes, but not all criminals were bad people. This was a lesson that your many years in law enforcement had taught you time and time again.

And as for you—well—you were a whole different story. Peña had never behaved himself around a law enforcement officer the way he had with you. At first you thought it was because you were a woman, and that Peña couldn’t help but take it easy on an attractive woman. But over time, you had come to find that Peña in his own strange way had come to genuinely care about you. No matter how much you tried to deny it, Steve was right. Peña had _feelings_ for you. You didn’t know how it happened, but it did, and there was no point in trying to ignore them anymore.

As for how you, yourself felt about Peña—well. You were very much overdue for a _long_ conversation with yourself about how you felt about him. If there was one thing you were very good at (and that Peña clearly sucked at), it was suppressing your feelings and ignoring them until you got the job done. This wasn’t the time to psychoanalyze yourself. It was the time to psychoanalyze Peña.

Peña had feelings for you. It was grossly obvious in the way he talked to you, dealt with you, and now, tried to warn you. There was nothing in it for him. He didn’t even ask for anything in return when he told you about the García-Sanderson conversation he had recorded. He was willing to throw caution to the wind and become a slave to his own emotions just to keep you safe. Nobody had _ever_ done that for you before, not even your own colleagues.

Peña had feelings for you. Feelings that were most likely reciprocated. But now wasn’t the time to figure that out.

Peña had feelings for you.

And you needed to take advantage of it. You needed to save your skin.

You took a deep breath and rubbed at your eyes, steeling yourself for the decision you were about to make. It was probably an incredibly stupid decision, but you felt, in your heart, that it was the right decision. And if for some damn reason it wasn’t, well, you were dead anyway. You lifted your head from your hands and faced your partners’ stares head-on, a steely determination in your eyes. You gave them a long glance before nodding.

“I believe him.”

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It was barely 5pm and Javier Peña already wanted a drink. He had tried to cut back on his frequent drinking, and so far, he had been doing a decent job. But then the whole shit with the CIA started to go down, and all he wanted to do was just drink himself into oblivion and not deal with it. Maybe the old Javier Peña would have done _exactly_ that, but this Javier Peña knew that if he didn’t do something, he risked the destruction of his entire cartel—and losing you.

It was ridiculous really. Since when did preserving everything he cared about hinge on whether or not the Americans could successfully conduct an internal mole hunt? Honestly, it just made his head spin.

Not for the first time, he wondered why Escobar was such a dumbass. After all, he had had the ability to live in a palace for a prison with nobody to bother him, everything provided for him. Javier could absolutely see himself throwing in the towel and just taking a jail sentence so he could get some fucking sleep. Escobar wasn’t much older than he was when he was killed, after all. Perhaps Javier was on borrowed time.

The harsh ringing of his office phone line startled him out of his defeatist musings. He frowned at the sound. That was…odd. Only a handful of people had access to his personal landline. Normally all calls for him were routed through Diego for additional security. None of his partners had direct access to his lines. Which meant that it must be Angélica or Angelina calling about something that had gone wrong.

Great.

He shuffled over to his office and propped his feet up on his desk before picking up the phone.

_“¿Sí?”_ he answered gruffly, willing that whoever it was would finish up quickly.

“Peña, it’s me.”

Javier flailed in his seat for a moment, hastily placing his feet back on the ground, heart skipping a beat. It was _you._ How—? Why—? Yes, he had given you his personal number all those months ago, but never once had you actually _used it_. It was always him calling you. And now the tables had turned. Why?

Wait…were you in _danger_? He gripped the receiver hard, trying to control his breathing.

_“¿Querida?”_ he asked disbelievingly, _“Estás…¿estás bién?”_ **(Are you ok?)**

“English, please, Peña. I don’t know who’s listening,” you said, softly.

Peña nodded, and then immediately rolled his eyes at himself. You couldn’t see him.

“Sure, of course,” he responded, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“I don’t have much time, but I called to let you know that—I believe you.”

Peña let out a large sigh of relief and placed his hand on his forehead. Thank god, he wouldn’t have to fight with you on this.

“ _Querida_ , you have no idea how happy that makes me. I—”

“Let me make one thing crystal clear,” you interrupted, “I believe you, but I don’t quite trust you. Frankly, you have enough shit on me to send me to Gitmo if I’m not careful, and I still don’t understand what your motives are.”

Peña sighed and rubbed his forehead. He had anticipated this. He may be a besotted moron, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Yes, I understand,” he said.

“You’ve just set us on what is probably one of the biggest internal sting operations we’ve ever had to deal with,” you said, “I’m calling to ask what you want.”

Peña frowned, confused.

“What I—want? I’m afraid I don’t follow, _mi cielo_.”

You huffed in annoyance.

“You don’t just hand over this kind of information without wanting something in return, Peña. What are you getting out of this?” you tried again.

Peña leaned back in his chair, a little surprised by your question. Frankly, he shouldn’t be. He would be asking the same questions if he were in your position. But to be honest, all he could think about was warning you. Not once did he think about how he himself could benefit from handing over this information.

“To be honest,” he started, “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I didn’t think you were going to believe me in the first place.”

You chuckled, and Peña’s heart fluttered at the sound. He hadn’t heard you laugh before.

“Well, to be honest, I wasn’t inclined to.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Digging right into the hard questions, was he? You clearly couldn’t get a break.

“I think it was the fact that you didn’t ask me for any kind of favor when you played me the recording. You just…said your piece and hung up. If you were trying to extort me for information or for something else, you did a real shit job of it.”

Now it was Peña’s turn to laugh.

“Frankly, I just wanted to warn you,” Peña said, “I wasn’t really thinking about the consequences or what I could gain from it.”

There was a silence on your end as you contemplated the weight of Peña’s words.

“So, you don’t want anything in return?” you asked, disbelievingly, “Because I find that a bit hard to believe.”

“Hmmm, did I say that, _querida_?” Javier said, playfully, and he was sure you could hear the smirk in his words, “But in all honesty, I don’t know. I’ll call you back when I’ve figured it out.”

“No, don’t call me. The CIA set up a monitored second landline for my García operation. God knows what else they’ve set up to spy on me in the past several days. I can’t trust anything in my apartment. So, don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

Javier did not like that one bit. He gripped the receiver even tighter.

“Wait…so then where are you now, _hermosa_?” Javier asked.

“At a payphone. And I’m going to run out of time here soon.”

“Are you safe?”

“For the moment.”

Peña did not like that one bit.

“Should I send someone to take you home? Are you sure you’re safe?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Peña, my safety is nobody’s responsibility but my own. Don’t worry about me.”

Well, that was fucking impossible. What did you expect him to do? Sit on his ass?

“What are you going to do?” Javier asked.

You let out a breath at the question.

“I can’t tell you everything,” you mumbled, “But I’m going to continue seeing García, as if nothing has happened.”

“ _Querida_ , I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“I have no choice, Peña,” you sighed, “We have a mole, and right now, García’s my best lead. But…I could use your help. Can I trust you?”

Javier perked up at that, using his free hand to grip the edge of his desk.

“Yes, _querida_ , yes of course.”

“Good,” you said, your voice hardening, “Because if you betray me, Peña, rest assured there’s nowhere on God’s green Earth you can hide from me.”

And Peña believed you. Honestly, he did. If there was anyone who had the power to crush him, it was you. In more ways than one.

“How can I help you?” Peña asked.

“In the recording you gathered, Sanderson mentioned that he had forged some documents. Supposedly against you. Do you have any idea what might be in them?”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t the faintest idea,” Peña said.

“That’s fine,” you reassured, “But I think—Murphy and I have an idea. We think that the CIA _wants_ me to find these documents. Why else would they send me on this wild goose chase?”

Javier frowned at that.

“I—suppose that might make sense, but why?”

“Whatever’s in them will probably contain the justification they need to conscript more American resources to defeating _you_ ,” you emphasized, “Cali would love nothing more than that.”

Javier let out a slow breath.

“Yes…that…that would make plenty of sense.”

“I need to prove that these documents are forged, and that the CIA head has made a deal with the Cali Cartel,” you continued, “But I need to find them without the CIA realizing I’ve found them. They’ve been monitoring my interactions with García closely, so it’s hard to do anything without them knowing. This is where you come in.”

“Go on,” Javier urged.

“Have one of your men keep tabs on Sanderson. If he’s García’s point of contact, I need to know how often they’re speaking. It will help me plan my own moves. And…I need one of your men to keep tabs on me.”

Javier frowned at the strange request. Of course, he did have someone who was assigned to follow you around, but you made it very difficult for them.

“If I find these documents, I need to get them to you,” you continued, “You’ll have to keep them safe for me, until we have enough evidence to build a case. And…if something were to happen to me…I would sure appreciate it if your _sicario_ could help me out.”

Javier’s frown deepened at that.

“What do you mean, _querida?_ ”

“Steve is technically part of the CIA team monitoring my meetings with García,” you explained, “If something were to happen to me, I don’t trust that they will let him come and help me.”

Javier gripped the table at the possibility.

“Easily done, _querida_. Is there anything else?”

“That should be it, for now,” you said, “Ok, I really have to go now, I’ll call you before my next meeting with García to give you the details. I’m taking a big risk here, Peña, to save both our asses. Please don’t make me regret it.”

“You have my word,” Javier said softly, “I’ve never once lied to you, and I don’t intend to start now.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, “I’m heading back to my apartment now. You can have your man head there, and he can start following me to and from work. I promise I won’t intentionally try to lose him this time.”

Javier laughed at that.

“José will certainly appreciate it, _querida_ ,” he said, “Please, please, be safe.”

“You too,” you said, not sure what possessed you to return the sentiment, “Have a good night, Peña.”

And with that, the call ended, leaving Javier staring at the receiver. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down before punching in another number.

He had work to do.

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Bill Stechner hung up his phone and drummed his fingers on his desk, contemplating what he was going to do next. It had been almost a month since he had gone to Cali to meet with the Rodríguez brothers to reassure them of the plan.

It had all been going quite smoothly. Sanderson had dropped off the documents with García—documents that would ‘prove’ that Peña was in bed with M-19, the Communist guerilla group that had been a royal pain in Stechner’s (and Cali’s) ass for a long time. Despite the war on Communism that the U.S. was engaged in, Stechner was still hard-pressed to convince Washington to invest any more resources than it already had in Colombian affairs. He had been trying for years, even during the war with Escobar, but every time, he hit a brick wall with the bureaucratic bullshit. So, he had to take matters into his own hands.

Stechner was first and foremost a patriot, or so he liked to believe. He loved his country, and he hated the commies. He would do anything to see them completely obliterated from the face of the Earth. Stechner had no love for _narcos_ , but he never felt that they were the biggest threat to the United States. No, the biggest threat to the U.S. came from groups like M-19. And it was only because of Escobar’s collusion with M-19 that Washington had finally taken more than a passing interest in Colombia. With Escobar dead, the bureaucrats had figured that that was the end of that. The few members of M-19, that were still running around, posed a threat, but nothing big enough for Washington to care about. Stechner didn’t have the tools he needed to eradicate the last of those motherfuckers, so, he did what he had to do.

He made a deal with the Devil. He wasn’t exactly proud of it, but he didn’t regret it.

It was all going so well, but this last phone call from Sanderson had him starting to believe that it was, in fact, going to shit. You were up to something, and he didn’t like it.

Apparently, García had called Sanderson to tell him that the forged documents were missing. García had finally made the step of letting you into his home, and the two of you were apparently spending quite a lot of time there. García had given you ample opportunity to find those documents, and when he discovered that they were no longer in his office, he assumed that you finally had. But there lay the problem.

You hadn’t reported anything out of the ordinary to Stechner or any of his agents. In fact, you kept saying that you couldn’t find _anything_. Which gave Stechner the very unfortunate task of wondering if you were trustworthy or not. He had sent Sanderson and another agent to break into yours and Murphy’s apartments when the two of you were at work (and Mrs. Murphy was at the hospital) to rummage through your things to see if either of you had covertly stolen the documents and hidden them.

But that phone call Stechner had just finished was Sanderson telling him that they had found nothing. So now, Stechner didn’t know what to think. He had always known that you were suspicious of him—you were right to be, especially from the very beginning. And now Stechner was wondering if you had finally acted on your suspicions and were bypassing the CIA entirely. Yet, there was really no way that you could have found out that the documents were fake…and that it was Stechner of all people who had ordered their creation.

You were good, but you weren’t _that_ good…or so he thought.

Stechner steepled his fingers and placed them under his chin, contemplating what he was going to do next. He really, _really_ needed you to find those documents, or else this entire scheme wouldn’t work. One option was that you _had_ found them but chose not to say anything. Stechner didn’t think that was the case. The other option was that García was lying…but Cali weren’t stupid. They wouldn’t betray Stechner like that…not after the amnesty he had promised them. The final option, which Stechner believed even less, was that _he_ had a mole and somehow _Javier fucking Peña_ had found those documents.

But to be honest, not only did none of those options make sense…it really didn’t matter _who found the documents_ because only Stechner, García, Sanderson, and the Rodríguez brothers knew that they were forged. Either way, Stechner had multiple copies of them—he could plant them anywhere he wanted. It didn’t really matter.

What mattered was that something happened to _you_. You were the lynchpin in the entire operation. Documents could be recovered, remade, and even discredited, but those documents paired with something happening to you—the DEA golden girl—well, Washington would have a hard time ignoring _that_.

Yes, things had gone slightly off kilter. But that didn’t mean they were going badly.

Stechner smirked and picked up his phone again.

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_Something was very wrong_ , you couldn’t help but think as you approached the door of your apartment, hesitating before turning the key. When you got home from work and stepped out into the parking lot of your complex, you felt the hairs stand up on the back of your neck…not unlike the day when Javier Peña decided to pay you a visit outside your apartment. Although this felt more sinister.

You took a look around for a moment, trying to get your bearings, and spotted Peña’s _sicario_ , José, dressed as an embassy employee, sitting on a small piece of wall on the other end of the lot, making it look as though he was taking a smoke break. He made eye contact with you and gave you a mock salute before turning back to his cigarette. For some reason, you felt incredibly relieved that he was there. Especially tonight.

The anxiety you felt only grew as you neared your apartment, and now you were standing at the door, contemplating what to do. You quickly checked that you had your service pistol, holstered to your hip, and slowly turned the key. You weren’t going to ignore the feeling this time, whatever it was. You were going to deal with it head on. You opened the door to your unit, the dark hallway greeting you just as it normally would, but now, it just felt dangerous. Everything inside of you was screaming to get out.

You stood in the threshold for a moment, listening carefully and heard a faint rustling sound. You felt sweat break out onto your skin—someone was in your apartment.

Taking a quiet breath, hoping to calm yourself down, you quickly calculated what to do. Steve wasn’t home—he and Connie were taking a much needed date night. José was just downstairs. All you’d have to do was go get him, and he’d come up with you and take care of this. This was exactly why you had requested that Peña send him. But…if the wrong person found out then that could spell more trouble than it was worth.

No. No.

You were a grown woman. A badass DEA agent. An experienced law enforcement professional. Whoever this was, they should be scared of you. You could handle this.

You drew your weapon and carefully entered the room, sweeping the front hallway, just as you had been trained to do. You swept the kitchen and living room, finding nothing, before starting the journey down the dark hallway into your bedroom, where you were certain the intruder was hiding. Just as you were about to open the bedroom door, you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you, one taking ahold of your waist and the other clamping a hand over your mouth.

You flailed for a moment, before your training kicked in. You stomped on the assailant’s foot hard, digging the heel of your shoe into his big toe. He grunted and faltered for a moment, but that was all the time you needed to sharply twist your body and viciously elbow him in the stomach. The man groaned and keeled over, giving you an opening to smack his face with your pistol. You were just about to point and fire when a second man ran out of your bedroom, gripped you around the middle and pushed you forward, sending you careening into the floor. He pinned your body to the ground, and you tried to regain your grip on your gun, but the first guy recovered quickly and kicked the pistol out of your hand. The first assailant gripped your wrists to prevent you from moving while the second one hauled you up on your knees. He twisted your arms across your back callously, causing you to cry out from the pain.

Each of them easily had one hundred pounds on you—there was no way you could fight both of them off. They dragged you into your bedroom, knees scraping against the carpet, causing you to hiss. Someone then turned on a light and you saw none other than Bill Stechner himself, sitting on your bed, hands clasped together, and a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Well, well, Agent,” he said, “This is quite the predicament you’ve found yourself in.”

“You fucking son of a whore,” you cursed, but Stechner just shook his head and tutted.

“You’ve got _quite_ a mouth on you,” he said, his grin widening, “I think it’s time that you and I had a little chat, don’t you? But not here. No, no, no. I’ve got a nice, cosy place set up just for you.”

You tried to scream but one of the goons restraining you clamped his hand over your mouth. You felt something prick your neck and within seconds, everything went black.

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_“Patrón!!!”_

José screamed as he and Diego burst into Javier’s office. Javier was immediately startled from the book he was reading, his stomach dropping as he realized who was in front of him.

José was meant to be watching you. And if he was _here_ , it couldn’t be good.

_“¿Qué pasó, José?”_ Javier demanded, _“¡Díme ahora!”_ **(What happened, José? Tell me now!)**

_“La tomaron, patrón, la tomaron,”_ **(They took her, boss, they took her)** José panted. Javier didn’t need to ask who José was talking about. He felt his blood turn to ice.

_“¿Quién?”_ Javier shrieked, _“¿Quién la tomó?”_ **(Who?! Who took her?)**

_“Los agentes, los de la CIA._ ” **(The agents. The ones from the CIA)**

Javier turned towards his desk, gripping the edge with both hands as he felt his body start to shake. He gripped the desk tighter and tighter as he felt his body give into the emotions rolling within him. Never before had he felt so strongly, so angry. He could topple the entirety of Colombia, the entirety of the damn _world_ with the energy coursing through his body right now. Whoever had dared to lay their hands on you had unlocked something inside Javier, a side that normally lay dormant. He would find those motherfuckers and squeeze the life out of them with his bare hands. For daring to touch you. For daring to touch what was _his_. Never before had he felt this incensed. He felt…he felt…

Rage. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....please don't hate me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go friends!!! Javi is BIG MAD

Steve Murphy sat on the couch, nursing a mug of tea that Connie had made him before she went to bed. The two of them had returned from their date night about an hour ago, and instead of, well, _continuing_ things, Steve had forced Connie to go to sleep. She had been nursing a migraine for the majority of the day, and Steve had a low threshold for forcing his overworked wife to get some rest.

As for Steve himself, he was way too jittery to sleep. He wasn’t sure what the problem was, but he hadn’t been sleeping well for the past several weeks. Things at work were getting incredibly complicated and having to worry about his, his wife’s, and his partner’s safety was starting to take a toll on him. Steve adored you—he viewed you as a little sister (even though the age gap between the two of you was like…six months). He was very worried about you. This job wasn’t easy on anyone, but it had been particularly hard on you, especially during the last eight months or so. You and Carrillo both had the nasty habit of burying your feelings as deep as they would go in order to get the job done. Steve could never do that—he couldn’t operate like that, and at least with Connie, he had someone to go home to and talk to about what he saw at work. Sure, Connie didn’t understand everything and got scared easily, but she was a strong woman. She had seen him at his worst and had still chosen to stick by his side. When this was over, he and Connie were due for a _long_ vacation.

However, you didn’t have anyone. You were by yourself—no partner or family in Colombia to help you out. Steve knew you had some family in the U.S., but nobody that you particularly cared about. It was why you had chosen to come to Colombia in the first place. You didn’t have many connections, and, by extension, you had very little to lose. But what Steve hoped you understood was that you did have people who would be very upset if something were to happen to you. Steve, Connie, and Carrillo would be at the top of that list.

As would Javier Peña.

Steve had no idea how the situation with Javier Peña started, but he would be lying if he said that he was surprised that it had ended up like this. By all accounts, Peña was a womanizer. He loved women and was generally known as a love-‘em-and-leave-‘em kind of guy. But Steve knew better. That persona that Peña projected was a defense mechanism. Deep inside was a very lonely man who desperately wanted someone to connect to. Steve knew it because he had seen the same tendencies in Escobar. When he was separated from his family, Escobar became a raging lunatic—his loneliness and desperation ultimately caused his demise. The lifestyle of a _narco_ was not a pretty one. It could be incredibly isolating, and that isolation would drive even the most hardened individual crazy. Not for the first time, Steve wondered if that’s why Cali actively encouraged their members to prioritize having a wife and kids. Loneliness could cause someone to do crazy things, and no drug cartel worth its salt would want unstable leaders.

Somehow Peña had latched onto you, the last woman in the world he should be cavorting with. The less observant people (like Carrillo…and you, frankly) would scratch their heads and wonder _how_ that happened. But to Steve, it made perfect sense. You were the perfect woman to handle a man like Javier Peña. Peña was not all sunshine and roses, but he wasn’t a pure devil either. You, as a law enforcement officer, had seen plenty of darkness in your career and had developed a way to handle it. You were under no delusions about the kind of man that Peña was—Peña didn’t need to explain anything to you.

Steve didn’t blame Peña. Frankly, if he were in Peña’s position, he would pursue you too.

But honestly, in this whole soap-opera of a situation, Steve wasn’t worried about Peña…he was worried about _you_. He knew that given the chance, Peña would whisk you away to wherever you would want to go and would be perfectly content to live out the rest of his life with you away from civilization. However, your feelings for Peña were a bit murkier. Steve didn’t deny that you probably felt _something_ for the criminal, but how deep those feelings ran was unclear. You were one of the most reserved individuals he had met. It was very likely that you hadn’t even had this conversation with yourself, let alone with anyone else. And Steve couldn’t blame you.

If you did share Peña’s strong feelings, admitting it would not only be career-suicide it would potentially place your entire life in jeopardy. From other _narcos_ and from your own government. If you decided to run off with Peña, would you ever be able to enter the U.S. again? Would your citizenship be revoked? Steve knew that you likely weren’t going to do anything stupid, but there was still the nagging fear in the back of his mind that maybe Peña would wear you down completely. He had seen this job take its toll on the best of people. He just hoped that you weren’t going to be one of them.

Perhaps, if the circumstances were different, Steve would actively encourage you to talk to seek a relationship with Peña. He knew you were lonely too, and he genuinely believed that Peña could make you happy. However, not even God himself could dream up a shittier set of circumstances, and Steve would never tell you to act on your growing feelings for the _narco_.

At least…not officially.

That sounded so crazy, and he couldn’t believe that he was even entertaining the idea…but he never thought that Peña was a bad person.

No. He couldn’t entertain those thoughts. And neither could you.

Sighing, Steve dumped the rest of his tea down the sink, intending to join Connie in bed, but he was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He figured it must be you calling to talk to him, so he shuffled over the phone and answered.

“Hey partner, what’s up?” Steve asked, however the voice that answered him wasn’t yours.

“Don’t hang up,” a low, gravely, male voice answered.

“What? Who the hell is this?” Steve demanded, already having an idea of who it must be, but he needed the vocal confirmation.

“Javier Peña,” the man responded, “We don’t have much time. Your partner’s in danger. She has been kidnapped.”

Steve felt his blood turn to ice at Peña’s words.

“ _Kidnapped?_ When? And by whom?” Steve asked, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Your friends at the CIA,” Peña growled, “If we’re going to get her back, we’re going to need to cooperate.”

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Colonel Horacio Carrillo never thought that he would ever in his life set foot inside the American Embassy, and he never thought, that if for some reason he got the opportunity, it would be at 5 in the morning, waiting for the ambassador herself to show up. You had been missing already for 8 hours, according to Peña, and with the way things were going, he feared you wouldn’t be found soon.

Steve Murphy had called him in a panic saying that Javier Peña, yes, _the Javier Peña_ , had informed him that you had been kidnapped…by the _goddamn CIA_.

Everything seemed so fucking flipped. This is not how things were supposed to happen. If anything, it should be the other way around…but apparently Satan had decided “yes today.”

So there Colonel Carrillo was, dressed in full uniform, sitting next to Steve Murphy, waiting on Ambassador Noonan to grace them with her presence. Murphy had mentioned to him that they were going to have to come clean about all they knew regarding Peña and the CIA. It wasn’t going to be a pretty conversation, and Noonan was going to be _pissed to hell_. You and Murphy would be lucky to stay out of jail for collaborating with a _narco_ and Carrillo would likely be court-marshaled. With his luck, President Gaviria himself would preside over the hearing.

They thought they could handle this, and apparently, they could not. The betrayal of the CIA was completely unexpected and ran too deep.

What a mess.

What a damn mess.

But at the moment, all that mattered was getting you back. Carrillo didn’t care how that was accomplished, so long as you were back safely. The three of you could deal with the fallout together. Alive and well.

As if on cue, Noonan strode into her office, flanked by a team of embassy security guards. She regarded both him and Murphy with a stern look and sat down stiffly in her chair.

“You two have a fuck-ton of explaining to do,” she hissed, “I want the full details of everything you have been keeping from me this past year, and I want them right now.”

Carrillo took a deep breath, looking over to Murphy for guidance. This was his ambassador and his embassy. This was Murphy’s show. He was just here for…moral support? Honestly, Carrillo had no idea why he was here. He should be out looking for you, not in here trying to placate some woman who hasn’t the slightest idea of what it’s like out on the streets.

Murphy cleared his throat and stood up, addressing the ambassador.

“If you’ll excuse me, Madam Ambassador,” he started, “But I think there’s someone who might be able to explain things better than us.”

Carrillo turned to stare at Murphy.

_Espero que sepas lo que haces, gringo,_ **(I hope you know what you’re doing, _gringo_ ) **Carrillo thought.

“May I use your phone?” Murphy asked, gesturing to the landline on the ambassador’s desk. She rolled her eyes and flicked her hand.

“Fine, but make it fast,” she said, curtly.

Murphy picked up the receiver and with a last look at Carrillo, dialed Javier Peña’s number.

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“Madam Ambassador,” Javier Peña said, using the politest tone that he could muster under the circumstances, “It’s a pleasure to finally speak with you.”

The ambassador’s harsh voice rang down the line, causing Javier to grind his teeth at the sound. Her voice was nothing like yours, which was smooth, calm, and reassuring.

“Mr. Peña,” she bit out, and Javier fought a groan at her terrible accent, “Care to tell me why one of my agents has called a _narco_ to help explain to me what is going on?”

“Well ma’am,” Javier began, “I’m involved for the simple reason that your people can’t seem to do anything properly, no? If you were able to keep a much better eye on what was going on in your embassy, then I wouldn’t need to be speaking with you today.”

“I will not sit here and listen to your erroneous judgements on how I run my embassy, Mr. Peña. Now you will explain yourself before I have the CIA officials listening to this call track you down and arrest you.”

Javier laughed humorlessly at the ambassador’s threat.

“Frankly, Madam Ambassador, it’s the CIA you should be concerned about. You see, I’m here for the simple reason that your female DEA agent is missing, and her partners need my help in finding her. And as much as it pains me to admit this, helping you is right now, in my best interest,” Javier replied.

“Stop speaking in riddles, Peña. I want to know what the _hell_ is going on,” the ambassador hissed, and Peña rolled his eyes.

“You should be nicer to the people that are offering to help you,” he said, “In the wrong hands, the information I possess could, well, be _very_ useful. As of now, I have an incentive to help you, but I could easily change my mind. So, Madam Ambassador, I suggest that you show me a little respect because we don’t have much time. The life of your beloved agent hangs in the balance, after all.” 

There was a silence on the other end of the line, and Javier took that as permission for him to continue.

“I have evidence that your CIA team’s director, a Mr. Bill Stechner, I believe, has cavorted with the Cali Cartel in order to destroy my cartel—an alliance, I believe, that is in direct violation of his orders, is it not?” Javier asked.

The ambassador sighed.

“What kind of evidence do you have, Peña?”

“Falsified documents, tape recordings of conversations between Mr. Stechner, his agents, and Cali Cartel members,” Javier said smoothly, “Evidence gathered jointly by myself and the DEA. Which is, I believe the reason your agent was kidnapped tonight.”

“How do I know that we can trust you, Peña? The DEA is supposed to be _pursuing_ you, not collaborating with you,” Ambassador Noonan hissed, no doubt sending a scathing look to Murphy and Carrillo.

Javier cleared his throat and responded.

“Agent Murphy, if you would be so kind as to play the wiretap recording that I sent you and the Colonel earlier this morning. I believe the ambassador will have all of her questions answered. For your reference, Ambassador, this recording was taken just two days ago.”

The line was silent again, and Javier heard some rustling—no doubt Murphy setting up the equipment required to play the recording. Silence again, and then the whirring of the tape. Then after a few moments, the recorded voice of Gilberto Rodríguez bloomed over the phone.

_“I’m surprised, Mr. Stechner,” Rodríguez began, “I must admit, I was not expecting you to be…quite so ruthless.”_

_“Well, you know, you gotta do what you gotta do,” Stechner replied, “And this operation is going too slowly for my liking. We need to start applying some pressure.”_

_“You are sure this is going to work?” Rodríguez asked, skeptical, “If one of us were to harm an employee of the American embassy it would be…quite difficult to recover. I am unsure of what the consequences would be for you.”_

_“Let me worry about that,” Stechner said, “For now, I just need your people ready to do what we agreed upon. I’ll take care of the rest.”_

_“Of course, Mr. Stechner,” Rodríguez, “I wish you the best of luck in accomplishing the next phase of your plan. Please let me know if I can be of any further service.”_

The recording ended there, and there was dead silence on the line. Javier was sure you could hear a pin drop at how quiet it was, and if he didn’t know any better, he would assume that the ambassador had hung up on him. Thankfully the lack of a dial tone assured him that she was very much on the other line, listening.

“It would seem that your illustrious Bill Stechner made one critical error…well several, in fact,” Javier said, “He decided to call Mr. Rodríguez from a secured line in _his office_. Which of course, our currently-missing agent was able to wiretap.”

“My god,” the ambassador said softly, “Where is Stechner now? Go find him.” The ambassador ordered someone else in the room. Javier rolled his eyes. Stechner was _with you_. They are running _out of time_.

“I’m sure you’ll find him wherever your agent is,” Javier said, urgently, “Perhaps now you might have a sense of urgency about this. You can find Stechner and arrest him and his agents for their betrayal, yes?”

The ambassador sighed, and Javier gripped the phone. How, after everything he had just presented to her, was she still hesitant?

“This is a massive accusation—”

Javier rolled his eyes at that. _No shit_.

“We cannot just go in, guns blazing, and arrest federal agents without a proper warrant and evidence,” Noonan finished.

“If it is more evidence you require,” Javier seethed, “Then I am happy to send you the _falsified_ documents that your agent found in García’s house. These documents erroneously allege that I have been collaborating with the communist group M-19. I’m sure you have a forgery expert on hand to review them.”

“That’s not the point, Peña,” the ambassador said, “In our country, we have a system of justice. We need a _warrant_ to arrest a U.S. citizen which can only be granted by a federal judge in Washington upon review of the necessary evidence.”

Javier was going to smash something.

No wonder the Americans could never catch their own criminals.

“You are saying that, despite what I have presented you, you will not pursue and arrest the CIA agents that kidnapped a fellow _federal agent_?” Javier said slowly.

“We supposedly have evidence that Stechner has been collaborating with the Cali Cartel,” the ambassador responded, “But we do not have evidence that Stechner has kidnapped her…or that the agent in question has been kidnapped at all. In fact, we have only your word that she’s missing. Which circles back to my original question. How do we know we can trust you, Mr. Peña?”

Javier felt his blood boil. With every second that the ambassador delayed this charade, you were being tortured and suffering under the hands of your _own fucking government_. Government agents, who swore to uphold your constitution, were _torturing you_ , one of their own. And the ambassador wasn’t even so much as blinking a goddamn eyelash at the situation.

  
If your own damn government wasn’t going to help you, then Javier was just going to have to take matters into his own hands. He would ensure your safety. With or without their help.

“I don’t think you are appreciating the gravity of your situation, Madam Ambassador,” Javier growled, “Allow me to impress upon the seriousness of the issue, _perra_.”

Javier heard a cough, no doubt the Spanish speakers in the room (namely Carrillo) were slightly mortified at Javier calling the American Ambassador to Colombia a bitch.

“I have gone through great pains and taken many risks to bring you this information. Information that I could have sold to your enemies for a high price. But instead, I have come to you. And yet, you still believe that you are the one in charge,” Javier hissed, “Let me make something crystal clear to you, Madam Ambassador. You are not in charge. You lost control of this situation the moment your CIA team decided to betray their own government. Instead, you are in debt…to me. And to the agent you have so carelessly tossed away who right now, _needs your help_ , but will not get it.”

The ambassador tried to protest but Javier wasn’t having it.

“My men have zeroed in on the location of your missing DEA agent and your traitorous Mr. Stechner and his colleagues,” Javier lied. He needed more leverage, and he needed to throw your government off the search. If this was the way they were going to act—without so much as a concern for your life—then he wasn’t going to give them permission to save you, to touch you. He would find you himself.

“If you wish for the safe return of your agent and for me to hand over your moles, along with the evidence you will need to prosecute, then I suggest you listen to me _very carefully_ ,” he continued.

There was a moment of silence on the line before the ambassador replied.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“Good. I will give you 48 hours to give me your response. Now here are my demands.”

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The Colombian jungle was a hellish place. Nothing to see for miles with the exception of trees, bugs, and more trees and bugs. It was hot, _mind meltingly hot_. The humidity caused you to sweat profusely, and you were grateful that at some point, one of the CIA goons had torn off the blazer you had worn to work. At least you weren’t melting with a blazer on.

Okay your priorities were a little screwed up, but you figured someone would forgive you. After all, you had been knocked out by members of your own government and dragged through the jungle to end up at this dingy shack in the middle of nowhere. Your only consistent company was Stechner, who came in every so often to mock you. It was strange, really. Throughout the beatings you had suffered, and the gigantic pail of water dumped on your head, you still didn’t understand what they wanted from you. No matter how many times you had asked, gasping out your questions from the pain, none of them would give you a fucking hint as to what you might have done wrong.

You weren’t sure how long it had been since you’d been unceremoniously dumped in this shack and tied to a chair. Hours, days, you weren’t sure. The only thing you could tell was vaguely what time of day it might be from the sliver of sunlight coming through the boarded-up windows. From what you could tell, it was approaching evening, so you knew that you had at least been here a full day. But you had no idea. You were just about to contemplate trying to get some rest when the door to your cell opened, and in walked Stechner. Again.

“Hey doll,” he said, bearing a cup of water in his hand, “How are you holding up?”

“Just _peachy_ ,” you quipped, your voice hoarse from the screaming you had done and parched from lack of water. The cup of liquid in Stechner’s hand could be peroxide and, at this point, you were perfectly willing to drink it.

“Thought you might be thirsty, here,” Stechner said, lifting the cup to your lips and tilting your head back. You drank greedily until the cup was finished, and Stechner threw it to one side.

“You know, I’ve always thought you were a beautiful woman,” Stechner said, regarding you, “and seeing you like this…you know, it’s just a damn shame. Those cuts are gonna scar if they aren’t treated soon.”

You spit at him, taking pleasure in the disgusted look on his face as your saliva landed on his cheek.

“Get _fucked,_ asshole,” you snarled, blood boiling as Stechner chuckled.

“You’ve still got a mouth on you, don’t you?”

Stechner squatted down to meet you at eye level and gave you a creepy smile. It made your skin crawl.

“I meant it. I think you’re a beautiful woman. I just _hate_ doing this to you,” he mumbled, dragging a finger down your collarbone, stopping just above the scooped neck of your tank top.

“Maybe under different circumstances…” he murmured, and you wanted nothing more than to kick this asshole in the balls, but alas, your feet were bound.

“In your dreams,” you growled, and Stechner just chuckled.

“Oh, trust me, I’ve dreamt,” he said, grinning.

Disgusting piece of shit. If you got out of this alive, you were going to shoot him in the head.

“Unfortunately, you are too much trouble to me alive,” Stechner said, raising himself from his crouched position.

“So, then what are you waiting for? Kill me, asshole. Or are you too much of a coward to do it? To kill a fellow federal agent?” you taunted, watching Stechner rub his chin.

“You see, it’s not that simple,” Stechner said, “if I want to get away with this, I have to make it look legitimate.”

“You want to pin this on Peña,” you stated.

Stechner chuckled.

“See, I knew you’d catch on quickly.”

“Good luck,” you said, “Peña doesn’t take things lying down.”

“Hmm, yes, well, I wouldn’t place too much confidence in the guy. He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer,” Stechner said, and you rolled your eyes.

“You shouldn’t underestimate your enemy,” you said, internally smirking. Stechner had no idea of your connection with Peña. He underestimated Peña, and he underestimated you. If anything, you knew that José had alerted Peña to your kidnapping, and Peña probably found a way to tell Steve and Carrillo. Someone would be coming for you, and you just needed to keep Stechner occupied.

“Well doll, it appears I overestimated you. Look at where that got you,” he said, chuckling.

“And I overestimated you,” you snarked, “I thought you’d have the balls to torture me yourself, but I was wrong. You just let your lackeys do it. Is your dick so small that you’re afraid to get your hands dirty?”

Probably not the smartest thing to ever come out of your mouth, but as you watched Stechner’s face tighten, you knew you had said the right thing. Stechner wasn’t a field agent anymore, hadn’t been for years. He was prone to making mistakes, and if you kept provoking him, he would make even more, which would buy you time. The fact that he was taking your bait was proof of that.

“Ok, sweetheart,” he said, tightly, “we’ll do it your way.”

And with that Stechner smacked you clean across the face.

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_“Podemos verla, Patrón. Ella está dentro del edificio,”_ **(We can see her, boss. She is inside the building)** José said softly into the phone, using binoculars to stare through the windows of the dilapidated shack.

Javier nodded and thanked José. He signaled to his men that were hidden in the bushes and knelt down, watching the two CIA agents guarding the front of the shack. From what he observed over the past few hours, the two agents were rather careless—not paying attention to their surroundings. The CIA were so cocky and thought they were invincible. That would be their downfall. Javier watched as the two agents turned their backs on the bushes to light cigarettes and that was his cue. He signaled for his men to cause their diversion, and two of his _sicarios_ tossed grenades at the parked CIA vehicles. They detonated immediately, and the two agents startled and, like idiots, began running towards the source of the commotion. The agents were immediately met by a volley of bullets and collapsed on the ground, lifeless.

The explosion from the grenades rocked the forest floor, and as Javier predicted, a few more agents tumbled out of the shack, guns ready. Thankfully, since Javier had eliminated their only source of transportation, and radios, they would be easy to pick off. He signaled to the two men on the ground with him and launched himself, along with Diego and Antonio, out of the bushes, firing at the agents who had just come outside. Javier and Antonio shot and killed two of them, but the third dropped his weapon and ran off in the other direction. With a quick nod of his head, Antonio sprinted after the agent to finish him off. Another _sicario_ ran from the bushes and joined Javier and Diego as they entered the shack.

The shack was bigger than it had looked, but the layout would make it difficult to hide. The three split up, with Javier taking the center hallway, gun in front of him as he swept the area. Suddenly, a CIA agent burst out from the room to his right and Javier fired immediately, intentionally hitting the agent in the leg. The agent went down, and Javier stood over him, grabbing him by his collar.

“Where is she?!” he growled, “tell me now, and I might spare you.”

The agent snarled up at him.

“Go to hell.”

Javier chuckled darkly.

“We’re already there, _pendejo_ ,” he said, before bashing the agent’s head against the wall. The agent crumpled to the floor, and Javier continued down the hall.

He took a few steps forward before he heard a shout coming from a room to his left…a distinctly female voice. Immediately, Javier kicked the door down and the sight made his stomach drop. You were tied to a chair with Bill Stechner standing behind you, a gun pressed to your temple.

“Well, Javier Peña, we finally meet don’t we,” Stechner said, “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to come here. What brings you to our fine establishment?”

“Mr. Stechner,” Peña said, exaggerating his accent to sound more threatening, “I must admit, I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t think you were this stupid.”

Stechner laughed.

“A _narco_ coming to save an American agent, this just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

“Not as good as the CIA betraying a fellow agency, and their own government.”

“Well,” Stechner said, “Unfortunately that was necessary. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. I do hope you know Peña neither of us is getting out of here alive. You take one step closer to me, and I’ll shoot your little girlfriend, and I’ll be quite happy to see the look on your face as her brains splatter all over this wall.”

Javier’s jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to kill Stechner, but he needed him alive. He ground his teeth, contemplating what to do, when he noticed that you were staring at him. He made eye contact with you, and you turned your eyes downward, indicating where he should look. Javier looked down by your arm and saw you, wiggling your fingers.

You’d freed your arms from your bonds. He fought to hide a smirk.

His beautiful, clever woman.

“Well, Mr. Stechner,” Peña said, returning his gaze to the CIA leader, “I’m afraid I can’t let that happen. You see, I’ll be turning you over to your government soon, where you will be tried, and sent to rot in jail for the rest of your pathetic life. But that’s only after I let my men have at you for a few days. You see, they’ve been itching for a good fight.”

And with that Peña quickly tossed his gun towards you. You caught it easily, and before Stechner could recover, you sharply twisted your body and fired, sending the bullet directly through the shoulder of Stechner’s gun arm. The CIA director screamed and keeled over, giving Peña the time he needed to launch himself at the man and tackle him to the ground. He kicked Stechner’s gun from his hand, and fired again, hitting Stechner’s ankle, ensuring that he wouldn’t be able to run.

Watching Stechner writhe on the floor in pain only angered Javier. The rage took hold of him, and he couldn’t help himself. He kicked the incapacitated man violently in the stomach, watching as Stechner futilely tried to protect himself.

_“Hijo de puta,”_ Javier growled in between kicks, _“Te voy a matar.”_ **(I am going to kill you)**

_“Javier,”_ you called out, voice small as your body started to give into the exhaustion, _“por favor, no lo hagas.”_ **(Please don’t do this)**

Your voice shocked Javier out of his blind rage, and he abandoned Stechner. He knelt in front of you, gently undoing the ties at your feet, and then cupping your face in his hands.

_“Mi amor,”_ he said softly, _“Perdóname, mi amor, por favor. Nadie te va a lastimar otra vez. Te lo juro. Siempre, te lo juro.”_ **(My love, please forgive me. Nobody will hurt you again. I swear to you. I swear to you always)**

“Thank you,” you said hoarsely.

The last thing Javier saw, before you passed out from the pain, was your smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our Javi is a little mean. I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we're at the penultimate chapter. How??? Thank you all so very much for sticking with me through this. It has been a RIDE

When you came to, you were in a room you didn’t recognize...in a bedroom you didn’t recognize. You could immediately feel yourself begin to panic before the rational centers of your brain kicked in and told you to remember your training. Take a deep breath, calm down, assess your surroundings, make a decision when you have gathered the vital information.

You were on an _incredibly_ soft, king-sized bed. Really, you had no idea where this mattress came from, but you wanted one—badly. Shaking your head, you looked down at yourself and realized that you weren’t wearing your own clothes. You were in a plain grey t-shirt and some sweatpants—none of which you owned.

So they must have belonged to someone else.

Ok.

Who undressed you, dressed you in their clothes, and then stuffed in you in a really comfortable bed?

You needed more information.

You slowly sat up, blinking the sleep out of your eyes and gazed across the room. The bedroom wasn’t small, but it wasn’t huge. It was definitely bigger than the one in your apartment, but nothing too crazy. Across from the bed was a beautifully ornate fireplace, which struck you as a little odd. Did it really ever get cold enough around here to warrant a fireplace? Or was it just for show? To your right was a beautiful set of floor-to-ceiling windows—the curtains had been pulled back only slightly, just enough to let some sunlight in the room. You craned your neck to try to see what was outside, and you could catch a glimpse of an expansive lawn and mountains in the background.

Clearly, you were no longer in Bogotá itself. Nobody who lived in the city had this kind of property. Or view. Unless you were the president, but you highly doubted you were in César Gaviria’s house.

You scrubbed your hands over your face, trying to recall what had happened to you. You remember being kidnapped by several CIA agents, including Stechner himself, and tied to a chair in a shack in the jungle. You weren’t sure how long you had stayed there, being forced to endure taunts and beatings from the CIA agents. You had tried to keep count of the hours, but you eventually just lost energy. In fact, you lost the energy to do a lot of things. While you had been fairly certain that someone would come find you, there were still moments where you had been convinced that you were going to die in that stupid shack. In the middle of nowhere. Thousands of miles from your home country, and nobody would give a shit.

Thankfully, by the grace of some god, you were proven wrong. 

Whoever had taken you out of that godforsaken place clearly cared enough...whether they cared about you or getting to Stechner didn’t really matter. They cared enough to not let you rot out there.

But who was it? Who got you out?

Wait.

You heard a knock on your door. Frowning, you removed your hands from your face and stared at the door, trying to decide if you had the energy to get up and open it yourself. You tried to call out to the person, but your voice failed you. You were thirsty, so thirsty, and you could barely speak. But you needed to know who was on the other side and what they wanted from you. Thankfully, the universe decided to give you a break, and the door opened anyway and the person stepped into the room to reveal themselves.

Javier Peña.

Yes, it was all coming back to you now. Your veritable knight in shining armor.

Who just happened to be one of the FBI’s most wanted criminals.

...And someone you were developing incredibly strong romantic feelings for.

There was no point in denying it anymore. Especially not after he swooped in like an angel and, in his infinite mercy, saved you from the CIA-created hell. Your guardian angel—who had, throughout your entire acquaintance, watched over you, protected you, and now _saved you_. You were not one to take on the role of ‘damsel-in-distress,’ but even you would admit that you had needed help. Stechner’s betrayal had rocked you to your core, and you were unfortunately completely helpless to do anything about. Even if someone in the embassy had found out you were missing, Stechner would be the last person they would have suspected as the culprit.

Frankly, if it weren’t for Javier, who knows what would have happened to you. You owed him your life.

Right now, all you wanted was for him to get his ass over to the bed and just hold you and reassure you that everything was ok. That you were alright, that _he_ was alright, and that Stechner or García couldn’t get to you again. You didn’t care if you sounded like a sap or weak. You just wanted him.

_“Querida,”_ he said softly, “You’re awake.”

You tried to smile, but you felt as though your lips would crack from the dryness. It was then that you noticed the glass of water he was holding in his hand.

_“Agua,”_ you mumbled, your brain somehow refusing to think in English, _“Por favor.”_ **(Water, please)**

Javier nodded, and slowly approached the bed, keeping a respectful distance away. You tried to reach out for the glass, but a sharp pain shot up your right side, causing you to hiss. Javier’s eyes widened, and he set the glass on the nightstand.

“Please be still, _querida_ , you were gravely injured,” he said, hurriedly, “May I?”

You nodded, and he gently placed his hand on your shoulder, leaning you forward so he could fluff the pillow at your back. He then placed a second hand on your other shoulder and guided you to lay back so that you were in a comfortable reclined position, but not lying all the way down. After you were settled, he handed you the glass of water, which you took gladly.

“Only small sips, please, don’t gulp it down. Doctor’s orders,” he said. You nodded and did your best to acquiesce to his instructions. It was so tempting not to down the glass in one go, but you figured that if you did, you’d be violently sick.

After a few moments of quietly sipping at your water, when you felt that your mouth was no longer full of sawdust, you spoke.

“What happened, Javier?”

Javier furrowed his brow and regarded you for a moment before gesturing to a small spot at the foot of the bed.

“May I sit?” he asked, and you nodded, frowning.

“It’s your house,” you mumbled, but Javier shrugged.

“I don’t wish to overstep. You are not well,” he said, gingerly sitting down on the bed, “How much do you remember?” 

You cleared your throat, taking another sip of water before answering.

“Not much, to be honest,” you said, “I blacked out several times while Stechner’s goons were...uh...doing whatever they were doing to me.”

You noticed Javier’s hand gripped the covers tightly at your description.

“I remember after some time, Stechner walked in and began...taunting me. I don’t...remember everything he said, but then there were gunshots and suddenly, you barged in,” you recalled, looking into Javier’s eyes, “You saved me.”

“ _Querida_ , I—”

“You _saved me_ from my _own government_ ,” you said, more forcefully, “Thank you.”

Now it was Javier’s turn to frown.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said, “I would do it again.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath at the implications of his words.

“What happened afterwards? I think I blacked out again after I shot Stechner,” you mumbled.

Javier nodded, and twisted his head slightly to look out the window.

“My men and I were able to detain Stechner, Sanderson, another CIA agent, and a Cali _sicario_ who was there to ensure the job was done. We’re currently holding them in a secured location. They won’t be getting out any time soon, not without my express permission,” he replied, “Afterwards, I brought you here where I had a team of private physicians attend to you. You were beaten quite badly and you have two broken ribs, but thankfully no internal injuries.”

He then turned to look at you.

“I had them give you something to help you sleep, so you could heal. That was about three days ago. We woke you up a few times since then so that you could eat and drink something, but you might not remember. You were quite...what’s the English phrase?...out of it.”

You nodded and gingerly touched your hand to your right side. You could feel the bandages underneath the t-shirt. No wonder it hurt so much to move.

“How long was I missing?” you asked, so quietly that Javier had to strain to hear it.

“About thirty-six hours,” he responded.

“And my embassy? Do they know what happened?”

  
Javier sighed and closed his eyes.

“Yes, yes they know,” he replied, “But...this is a complicated matter. Perhaps when you’re feeling a bit better, I’ll tell you what happened.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. No, you were feeling just fine. He was going to tell you now.

“What happened?” you demanded, “I need to know.”

Javier opened his eyes and looked at you with an expression full of such emotion that it took your breath away.

“Before I tell you, I need you to know that everything I did, I did because I needed to find you,” he said, “I don’t want you to think I did this for other reasons. I don’t want you to think that I don’t...feel for you.”

You felt your throat clog up, but didn’t say anything, in a silent plea for him to continue.

“José came to me immediately when he noticed something was wrong. Your CIA agents aren’t as subtle as they think they are, José was able to catch on very quickly that you had been kidnapped. When he told me—I must admit, I had never been so terrified. If another _narco_ had taken you, at least I would have known how to handle that. But other American officials? I had no idea what to do. I called Steve Murphy, and he, Carrillo, and I met with your ambassador to discuss the evidence we collected...rather Murphy and Carrillo met her in person. I just spoke with her over the phone.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“You spoke to Noonan?” you said, bewildered.

Javier looked a little...ashamed?

“Yes, I did,” he mumbled, “I’m afraid I had some...rather choice words for her. None of them were particularly nice.”

You snickered at the mental image of Javier chewing out Ambassador Noonan. No doubt she took that verbal berating rather poorly.

“She deserved it though,” he muttered, darkly, “She said that, despite all of the evidence Murphy and I had brought to the table, in order for her to even _arrest_ Stechner, she would need to get a _warrant_ from a judge in Washington. It was complete _mierda_.”

You sighed. Typical Noonan. Her hands were always tied, it seemed.

“She’s not wrong, Javier. She would have needed a warrant, it’s the law.”

“I _don’t care_ ,” Javier said, forcefully, “I still wouldn’t care even if I weren’t a _narco_. I would have done anything to get you back— _anything_.”

You sat up further, gingerly, and reached out for his hand. He noticed and grasped it gently, intertwining your fingers. Silence settled between the two of you as both of you studied your clasped hands, Javier gently rubbing his thumb over you knuckles. After a little while, you spoke.

“What did you do, Javier? What aren’t you telling me?”

Javier squeezed your hand, but refused to meet your eyes.

“I did what I had to.”

“ _Tell me_ ,” you insisted, “Please.”

“I threatened your ambassador,” he said, “I told her that I had her traitorous agents in my custody, and that I wouldn’t turn them over until she met my demands.”

You took a sharp breath but didn’t remove your hand from his.

“And what were your demands?”

Javier closed his eyes for a moment before releasing your hand, standing up, and walking towards the window. He pulled back the curtain, letting the sunlight enter the room, and placed his hands on his hips, hanging his head. When he finally turned back to face you, he had a pained expression on his face.

“I’m _tired_ , _querida_ ,” he said, exasperatedly, “I’m almost forty-five years old. Do you know how old Escobar was when he was killed? Forty-five.”

You frowned, but said nothing, wondering where he was going with this.

“I’ve built an empire,” he said, gesturing widely at the room, “Made more money than I know what I can do with—more money than I can possibly spend in my lifetime. Escobar and I are similar in many respects, but you know what separates us?”

You shook your head, still not understanding what he was talking about.

“Escobar had something to live for,” he sighed, “He had a family who loved and adored him, and who he adored in return. They kept him going to the bitter end. I’m sure that if he didn’t have them, he would have eaten a gun eventually and put himself out of his misery.”

Javier turned away from you and refocused his gaze out the window, running a hand through his hair.

“He was something to someone. And I—I am nothing, not to anyone. I have nothing of value to live for.”

You were about to protest at his defeatist rant, but Javier turned back to you and fixed you with a piercing gaze.

“That is...until I met you, _querida_.”

Your breath hitched as you finally came to the realization of what he was trying to say.

“I met you, and you were unlike any other woman I knew. You just...captivated me from the very beginning with your strength, your intelligence, your fire. Everything. And before I realized it, I just found myself falling deeper into your depths and not knowing how to claw myself back out. Soon enough, I found I didn’t want to. I have never felt this way before about anyone, and I was very nearly married.”

“Javier, I—,” you stopped yourself, the words catching in your throat. How were you supposed to respond to this? This amazing, passionate man was just willingly bearing his soul to you. The amount of strength and trust that it must take for him to even _consider_ this—you were lost for words. Nothing you could say would compare to this.

Javier sighed and looked at you squarely.

“I’ve reached a deal with your ambassador. It needs to be approved by Gaviria before it can be implemented.”

You took a shuddering breath, trying to calm the racing of your heart.

“What is it?” you whispered, hating how weak you sounded, but you just couldn’t stop the course of adrenaline running through your veins.

Javier took a deep breath, holding it in for a few moments, before releasing it.

“In exchange for the safe return of your CIA agents _and_ my assistance in arresting the high-ranking members of the Cali Cartel,” he began, “I will be granted amnesty and a presidential pardon.”

You gasped at that. He couldn’t seriously be suggesting that—

“Once Cali has been destroyed, I will step down as the leader of _Los Pepes_ and covertly hand control over to my cousins, Angélica and Angelina,” he continued, “I will then be allowed to take my assets and live out the rest of my days in obscurity. As a private citizen. I figured it was the least your government could do for my help in exposing the CIA’s treasonous plots.”

You felt the unwelcome sting of tears in your eyes, and you shook your head in an attempt to prevent them from falling.

“Javier,” you choked out, “Why are you doing this?”

Javier shrugged nonchalantly.

“Truth be told, I have been thinking about this for a while, long before I met you,” he said, “You just gave me the push I needed. I’ve done this just as much for myself as for you.”

“—for me?”

Javier sighed again.

“I thought this would be obvious, _querida_ ,” he said, “I love you. I am _in love_ with you. I have been for months. I am asking you to come with me when all this over. Once Cali is dismantled, you will be free from your obligation as a DEA agent, and I will no longer be a wanted man. We can be together freely—if that’s what you wish.”

You could no longer stop the few tears that spilled over. You let them roll down your cheeks and land onto the expensive covers. You opened your mouth to say something, but words failed you. You kept trying, but eventually Javier held up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t—you don’t need to say anything, not right now,” he said, “I don’t want you to say it back, until you’re ready. Until you’re sure that you _mean it_. Because, _mi cielo_ , if you tell me that you feel the same way—well—I’m an incredibly selfish man. I’m not going to let you go. You _have_ to be sure that this is what you want.”

You were completely struck dumb, and you couldn’t do anything but nod. The silence in the wake of Javier’s confession was deafening. Eventually, Javier rubbed his eyes with one hand and made his way over to the doorway.

“I’m sure President Gaviria will approve the plan, albeit reluctantly,” Javier acknowledged, “So, in the meantime, there are some things I will need to prepare. I have a few phone calls to make, if you don’t mind me leaving you for a bit.”

You shook your head.

“Please take some more rest, I know I’ve overwhelmed you, and for that I am sorry. But I’m not sorry for being honest with you,” he continued, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like, and I insist that you stay a few more days, until you’re feeling up to going back to work. As far as your colleagues are concerned, you are in a private hospital and are not allowed any visitors, so there is no rush. Take all the time you need. If you don’t mind, I’d like to at least have dinner with you once before you go.”

You nodded. How could you deny this man anything? After everything he has done for you? Especially if all he wants is the pleasure of your company.

“Of course, Javier, I would be delighted to have dinner with you.”

Javier’s resultant smile could light up the entirety of Bogotá.

“Good, I’m glad,” he said, “I’ll see you later, _querida._ For now, rest please.”

And with that, he left, closing the door behind him, the soft click of the lock echoing throughout the room.

.

.

.

.

.

You spent another week at Javier’s beautiful but modest estate. At some point, you’d called the ambassador and requested the additional leave time, which she readily granted. You’d then called Murphy and Carrillo who were both ecstatic to hear from you, although they had many questions about where you were and what you were doing.

“Peña said he brought you a private hospital,” Carrillo had asked, “Which one? Can Murphy and I come see you?”

You hesitated. As much as you trusted your partners, you knew that they would not take the news to you actually being at Peña’s estate well. Murphy might be able to keep a secret but Carrillo would absolutely lose his shit. If you decided to take things further with Peña, you’d have to tell them both, but not now. So, you rattled off the name of a swanky hospital on the outskirts of Bogotá that you knew Peña had built.

“I see,” Carrillo said, something in his tone suggesting that he didn’t quite believe you but was going to let it slide for now, “And you are doing all right? Can you be discharged? Shall I drive you home?”

Any other time, you would have smiled at Carrillo’s concern for you, but right now, you just wanted some peace.

“No, my ribs were badly broken. They want to make sure that they don’t puncture anything. I also had several infected cuts,” you lied, “I’m on a strong course of antibiotics right now. They’re making my immune system weak, so they don’t want anyone around me until the course is finished.”

You could tell Carrillo _really_ didn’t believe you. You were a very good liar, but even you couldn’t bullshit medical facts well enough. But thankfully, he got the hint that you wanted to be left alone and changed the subject.

“I see. Well, I’m assuming Murphy told you? About Peña’s alleged deal with our two governments?” Carrillo asked.

“Yeah,” you murmured, recalling your conversation with Murphy where you had pretended to be surprised when he told you about Peña’s terms of surrender, “What do you think?”

Carrillo sighed.

“I want to see him behind bars,” he said, “But I guess, this is the next best option. I’m not happy, but if I had to pick a cartel that I hate the most, it would be Cali.”

You had to agree with that. Cali were basically the devil incarnate. Not only did they run one of the biggest trafficking empires, launder money, and hold an entire city hostage, they also did it while pretending to be stock brokers.

_Stock brokers._

Your conversation with Carrillo ended eventually, and you returned to your position on the couch in one of Peña’s beautiful living rooms. You nursed a mug of tea in your hands that his cook, Marta, a lovely lady with a warm, motherly disposition, gave you when she saw that you were feeling a little cold. She brought it out to you with a smile and some kind words.

_“Señora,”_ she said, calling your attention, _“Le alegra mucho, el Patrón, de que usted esté aquí con nosotros. Por favor, tenga cuidado con su corazón.”_ **(Ma’am, the boss is very happy that you are here with us. Please, be careful with his heart)**

After Marta had left, you turned to stare out the window of the living room. The lights of Bogotá shined brightly in the distance, and you understood why Javier built his estate in this location. It was beautiful and peaceful. You contemplated the events of the past week you had spent here recovering and all that you had learned about Javier in that time. For one, contrary to popular belief, Javier was a very kind man. His staff clearly adored him, and he treated you with the highest level of respect. He had a violent side, of course. You’d seen it—it was necessary in order for him to do his job. You had a violent side too, but you had had fewer opportunities to express it than Javier.

During your stay, he spent as much time with you as he could. He disappeared for a few hours every day to take care of things, but he tried to take business calls from his office whenever he could. Occasionally, he would have to leave the estate, but he would let you know first, and would be back typically before nightfall, and you had dinner with him each night. What really struck you was how much he trusted you. He allowed you free reign of his home—which was something you were not expecting. One time, you had found a book you had wanted to read in his library and stumbled around the house looking for a good place to read it. You had gotten lost and ended up in his study where he was reviewing some paperwork. Instead of sending you out, he smiled and invited you to sit on the couch while he worked—which you did. He took his phone calls, not even bothering to ask you to step outside the room as he did.

When you had asked him about it, he shrugged his shoulders.

“I have nothing to hide from you, _querida_ ,” he said, “I’ve never lied to you before, and I won’t lie to you now. I trust you.”

And it was then that you knew that you would go to your grave before you broke that trust.

And that you trusted him in return. 

You were interrupted from your musings by the sound of the man himself entering the living room. He smiled at you and sat down on the couch across from you.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Much better,” you said, “The doctor said my ribs have finished healing for the most part. I’ll still need to wear the brace for a bit, but I should be okay to go back to work.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said smiling, “I understand that you will need to return to work tomorrow, then?”

You nodded.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” you mumbled, darkly. You were not prepared for the fallout of Stechner’s betrayal and your capture. No doubt the office had been absolutely _teeming_ with gossip, and the rumor mills would only escalate once you finally came back to work.

“I must admit, I’ve grown quite fond of seeing you every day,” he responded, “But you have a job to do, and I don’t envy all that you have to deal with.”

“Trust me, I have absolutely no desire to do my job right now,” you groaned, “It’s going to be a shitshow. But I suppose I should just rip the Bandaid off and be done with it.”

Javier nodded.

“Well, if this is our last night together, then can I interest you in something to eat? Marta said she would make the _ajiaco_ that you love so much.”

You smiled at the thought of Marta’s cooking. She was probably one of the best cooks in the world, hands down.

“I’d love to.”

.

.

.

.

.

Just as you had predicted, your first day back at work was awkward as fuck. News of your capture and the betrayal of the CIA had spread like wildfire. Thankfully, Murphy and Ambassador Noonan had come up with a cover story to keep the more...well...salacious details (read: Peña’s involvement) under wraps. As far as the office was concerned, Murphy, Carrillo, and the Search Bloc team were responsible for your rescue. You were more than happy to let them have the credit, and you were sure that Javier would be too. He really didn’t like being the center of attention, despite what people thought about _narcos_.

When you walked into your office, Steve had immediately engulfed you in a bear hug. The two of you stood there for a few moments before he finally released you.

“You’re not allowed to do that again,” he said, “Scare me again like that, and I’ll kill you myself.”

You laughed.

“Trust me, Steve. I have had more than enough excitement for a lifetime.”

Steve gave a small smile.

“I’m glad,” he said, his face falling slightly for a moment, “I know it’s your first day back for a while, but unfortunately there’s a lot to catch you up on. We have to meet with the ambassador in about an hour.”

You nodded and sighed.

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to sigh, and he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Uh, well, she’s gonna say some things in this meeting...and I think it’s best if you hear it from me first.”

You frowned and looked at Steve with concern, gesturing for him to continue. You both took a seat and Steve leaned forward on his desk, absentmindedly playing with a pen as he collected his thoughts.

“As far as everyone else here is concerned, thanks to our friend Stechner, our focus has shifted from _Los Pepes_ to the Cali Cartel,” he began, “Nobody knows about Peña’s deal with Noonan and Gaviria, and it needs to stay that way. If you’re going to stay on to take out Cali, that’s a secret that only you, Carrillo, and maybe one or two other agents can be privy too. Nobody else.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at Steve’s wording.

“Wait...what do you mean...me? What about you?”

Steve looked at you, his eyes sad.

“Connie and I are leaving,” he said, softly, “I’m requesting a transfer back to the States.”

The shock must have been plain on your face because Steve slid his chair over to squeeze your shoulder.

“Steve,” you began, “You...you _can’t leave_. How...I can’t do this without you, Steve. I can’t do this by myself.”

Steve shook his head.

“Yes you can,” he said, firmly, “If there’s anyone who can do this, it’s you. I’m tired, kiddo. Connie and I...well...it’s taken a lot out of us to stay here this long. There were many times that I was convinced that she was going to leave me. I need to do this for her, for us. I don’t think we have it in us to take down a _third_ cartel, in addition to the hoopla that will be the investigation of the CIA.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes at the thought of Steve, one of your best friends, leaving Colombia, but you refused to let the tears fall. You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath.

“You’re not alone, kiddo. Not really,” he reassured you, “You still have Carrillo. That bastard sure as hell isn’t going anywhere.”

You both let out a wry chuckle at that.

“And...you have Peña,” he said softly.

“I’m not sure about that, Steve,” you mumbled. Steve just looked at you as though you were incredibly stupid, which to be fair, at the moment, you were.

“Kiddo,” he started, “Very soon, you’re going to have a big decision to make. And I’m not talking about your career. I’m talking about your _life_. What you’ll do after you’re done with the DEA. Because nobody is meant to do this forever...not even Peña.”

Steve caught your eyes, staring intensely into them.

“Soon, he’s going to be a free man. And you’ll be finished with the DEA. There’s an opportunity there, one that most people wait their entire lives for and never get. Hell, Escobar never got it,” he continued, “So, you better promise me that you won’t waste it.”

“Steve, I—”

“ _Promise me_.”

You looked squarely at Steve and nodded.

“Yeah. I promise.”

.

.

.

.

.

You collapsed onto your couch when you entered your apartment, the weight of the day finally catching up with you. The meeting with the ambassador had been intense. Your boss from the DEA headquarters in Virginia had called into the meeting to discuss the next steps with you and Steve.

You’d been promoted. One of the first women to occupy such a high-level position in the DEA.

_“We’re offering you the position as the head of the DEA in Colombia,” your boss had said, “You will be responsible for the investigation into the Cali Cartel. You will have a team of three to five agents who will report directly to you. Your relationship with Search Bloc and your...well...rapport with our favorite cartel leader make you the perfect candidate for this position.”_

_You’d been slightly taken aback at the offer, but truly, it wasn’t a complete surprise. Obviously after Stechner’s betrayal, there was going to be a lot of reshuffling and there could be no more dragging-feet._

_You had also internally chuckled at the description of your relationship with Peña. Rapport. If only these assholes knew half of it._

_“If you need to take some time to consider this, we’re happy to give it to you,” Noonan said._

_You shook your head._

_“No,” you replied, firmly, “I accept the position.”_

In short, it had been a hell of a day. There was still going to be a lot of red-tape and clean-up that you and Steve would have to do. There was also a the fact that the two of you were being deposed and would soon be called to Washington to testify, before Congress, about the betrayal of the CIA. Steve had been transferred to the DEA office in Miami, and he and Connie were scheduled to leave Colombia within two weeks’ time. 

Everything was changing so fast, and you needed help in processing it all.

And there was only one man in the country—no, the world—who you trusted to help you through it.

You picked up the phone and punched in Javier’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

“Javier, it’s me,” you said when he picked up the phone.

_“Querida,”_ he answered, “Is everything all right? How was work?”

“Work was...a lot. I’ve been promoted,” you started, “I’m to lead the investigation into the Cali Cartel.”

“Congratulations, _querida_ ,” he said, a smile evident in his voice, “You have worked so hard. I knew you could do it. I’m very proud of you.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at his praise. 

  
“Javier...there’s something I need to tell you,” you said, “I—I think it’s best if I do so in person. Can you come over? To my apartment.”

“Yes, yes of course,” he said, “Everything is all right?”

You smiled.

“Yes. It’s perfect.”

True to his word, Javier arrived at your apartment, and it only took him about twenty minutes to get there. You internally chuckled knowing that he must have broken quite a few traffic laws in order to get here in that short of a time. You pressed the buzzer to let him up, when it occurred to you that he had never actually been inside your building, and you wondered if he’d get lost. But it didn’t matter because within a few minutes, you heard a knock at the door.

You opened the door, smiling as you granted him entrance into your apartment. He looked around for a few moments, taking in your rather spartan living quarters.

“I must admit, it is a little sparse,” he said, “But I suppose you don’t spend much time here, do you.”

You shook your head.

“No, most of the time, I just fall asleep at my desk.”

Javier chuckled.

“But I’m assuming you didn’t ask me here to show me your apartment,” he said, “What’s on your mind, _querida_?”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, before looking straight into his expressive, brown eyes.

“Javier,” you said, “I love you.”

There was a moment of silence before a large grin slowly crept onto Javier’s face.

Its brightness could have lit up Bogotá.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS WANTED FLUFF OKAY SO YOU GOT IT
> 
> hope it didn't disappoint <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, we are at the end here folks. Thank you so much for sticking with me through this! I do apologize for the, uh, lack of smut (I didn't want to ruin this fic with my terrible smut), so here's some cheesy, tooth-rotting fluff instead!

To say that Javier was completely over the moon at your words would have been the understatement of the damn century. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face—how could he when you had said the words he had been longing to hear for months? Javier had never considered himself to be a particularly romantic individual, but he knew that when it came to the matters of the heart, he was just as vulnerable as anyone else. And that was something that he intimately knew. If you had not returned his feelings—well—he would have survived. He had been on his own long enough to know how to take care of himself.

But he wouldn’t have lived.

It was an important distinction, but one that he had learned the hard way.

Now, standing in front of you and seeing the adoring expression on your face, he wondered how he lived without it. It was a question he would probably never be able to answer. But now, it didn’t matter.

He cupped your faces in his hands and leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and taking a moment to just feel your presence.

“Do you mean it, _querida_?” he asked. Logically, he knew what the answer was, but he just needed to hear it.

“Yes,” you replied, “Yes of course. I love you, Javier, I really do.”

Javier pulled back to look into your eyes.

“Can I kiss you, _querida_?” he asked, voice pleading. You just grinned and nodded, which was all the permission he needed.

_Finally_ , he thought as he captured his lips with yours. It was unlike anything he had experienced. It was as if his brain had short-circuited and was oblivious to everything else other than you. He placed a hand on the back of your head, deepening the kiss, and backing you up against the wall. You responded in kind, and reached your hands up to tangle your fingers in his hair. He groaned into your mouth at the action, and reached his other arm down to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer into his body.

After a few minutes, you both broke the kiss, gasping for air, but he didn’t release his grip on you. He looked at your face, lips swollen from such a passionate kiss and eyes dark from arousal. He swore that he had never seen someone quite so beautiful. And if he played his cards right, he would continue to see such a sight for the rest of his life. He leaned down to press his forehead once again to yours.

“ _Mi amor_ ,” he breathed, “Please, tell me that you want me as much as I want you.”

You shuddered at the implication, but nodded.

“Yes,” you gasped, “Yes of course. I will always want you, Javier.”

Javier tightened his grip on you in response, letting the hand holding your head come down to also grip your waist.

“ _Querida_ , will you let me show you how I feel?” he asked, “Will you let me make love to you?”

You inhaled sharply, bringing your hands down to grip his shirt. You opened your eyes to look into his expressive brown ones before nodding slowly.

“Yes, Javier,” you said.

_“Show me.”_

.

.

.

.

.

You walked into the embassy feeling more like yourself than you had in almost two years. Coming to Colombia had been simultaneously the best and worst decision you had made in your life. Sure, you had been shot at, harassed, kidnapped, and beaten to a pulp... _by your colleagues_...but, if that hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t be in the position you were in now.

  
Head of the DEA and now, well, in bed with Colombia’s most famous _narco._

Oh the irony.

The damn irony.

If anyone had come to you, heck, even six months earlier and told you that this is where you’d end up, you would have shot them. But yet, here you were.

And you couldn’t be happier, frankly.

The night that you and Javier had confessed your feelings had been, well, nothing short of incredibly _mind blowing_. It had taken merely one night, and he had completely ruined you for anyone else—something that that bastard was unbelievably smug about. But there it was. After that night, Javier had insisted that you join him in his estate, which you were glad to do, but you had asked him to wait for a bit—until after Steve Murphy left, Javier’s deal with Gaviria was officially approved, and your priority became the Cali Cartel.

He had grumbled at that, but you had reassured him that it was only a few weeks. You’d see him in the meantime, and you really did need to keep the apartment for appearance’s sake anyway. Plus, you needed some time to slow down and catch your breath. You knew you were making the right decisions, but you needed to clear your head for a bit and reassure yourself.

You sat at your desk and sighed, turning over to face your partner, Steve, who had arrived at work only a few minutes prior. Today marked a month from the time you were kidnapped and was Steve Murphy’s last day at work. He and Connie would be leaving on the first flight out of Bogotá tomorrow morning. The whole thing was bittersweet. You were going to miss Steve very, very much, but you understood why he was leaving. He was done with Colombia and was ready to return to his life in the States.

Meanwhile, your life was here—in the South American country that, over the course of two years, you had come to call your home. Even if things had turned out differently and you and Steve had arrested Javier, you would have been hard-pressed to return to the States. You were too attached to Colombia. And now, you had even more of a reason to be—even more of a reason to stay. You had some family in the States that you kept in occasional contact with, but they weren’t enough for you to consider abandoning your life here. You were going to catch the Cali Godfathers, and you and Javier would figure it out after that. Frankly, you didn’t care where you ended up, so long as you were with him.

Javier was Colombian to the core, and there was no way in hell he was going to leave his country unless someone forced him out. So you’d be staying here.

And that thought made you incredibly excited.

“Hey partner,” Steve called, snapping you out of your thoughts, “How are you doing?”

You smiled.

“I’m okay, Steve,” you replied, “I’m going to really miss you, you Southern bastard.”

Steve laughed and reached over to squeeze your shoulder.

“You’ve got some major changes coming your way, don’t you?” he remarked, “Head of the Colombian DEA team. If anyone deserves it, it’s you. I’m proud of you, kiddo. You did good.”

You grinned.

“I’m going to force all these new kiss-ass agents we’re getting to call me, ‘ma’am.’ I am going to have a marvelous time pushing them around.”

Steve cackled at that.

“Oh, _of that_ I have no doubt,” he agreed, “So, what do you think of these rooks we’re getting? What are their names again?”

You frowned and checked the file.

“Agents Feistl and Van Ness,” you answered, “Both of them seem fine, decently qualified. Feistl apparently speaks Spanish, which officially makes him a better agent than you, Murph.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance in hell,” you teased, grinning wide.

“I have to say,” Steve continued, “I am interested to see what Carrillo is going to have to say about having to deal with two complete _gringos_ again.”

Now it was your turn to keel over with laughter.

“Oh my god, I can’t wait to see the look on his face,” you said, wiping tears from your eyes, “Thankfully, they aren’t coming for another week, so I’ve got some time to prepare him.”

Steve grinned in response.

“If you can get a picture of his face, please mail it to me,” he requested before his smiled faded a bit, and he regarded you a bit more seriously.

“So uh,” he started, clearing his throat, “Is he...is he treating you ok?”

Both of you knew exactly who Steve was referring to.

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling slightly, “Yeah, yeah he is. He is...very kind. And respectful.”

Steve nodded.

“He makes you happy then?”

Your smile grew at that.

“Yes, Steve. He makes me _very_ happy.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Steve said, approvingly, “Just know...if he ever does anything...give me a call. I’ll fly back down and beat the shit out of him myself.”

You laughed heartily at that.

“I’m sure you’ll have to take a number if that happens,” you said, “I’ll murder him myself. Carrillo and Trujillo would help me hide the body.”

“Oh, so you told them?”

You looked a little sheepish at the question.

“Uh...yeah...I told Carrillo in confidence.”

“And how did he take that one?”

You told Carrillo about your growing relationship with Peña after Gaviria had officially approved his amnesty plan. Truth be told, Carrillo had taken it rather well—on the surface. But having known him for as long as you did, you knew better. He wasn’t angry. He just thought you were highly stupid. Of course, Carrillo being Carrillo, his official position was to not give a shit.

_“I suppose he has been pardoned by the president,” Carrillo said, raising his eyebrows, “So, from an official standpoint, I don’t care. But as your friend, I am skeptical. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”_

_You nodded._

_“I’m a big girl, Carrillo,” you replied, “I’ll be ok.”_

_Carrillo sighed._

_“Well, if you end up not being, just know that I’m a phone call away.”_

Steve shrugged at you retelling of the encounter.

“He’ll come around eventually, don’t worry about him,” he assured you, “Although for my part, I expect a wedding invitation soon.”

You guffawed at that.

“Steve, I doubt there’s going to be a wedding.”

Steve just rolled his eyes.

“Are you kidding me? The minute you leave the DEA, that bastard is going to drag you to the nearest courthouse and legally tie his sorry ass to yours. I haven’t been wrong about him before, and I don’t intend to start now.”

You stared at Steve, looking for a hint of jest, but he was being entirely serious. He just shrugged at you and went back to finishing up his exit paperwork. In the meantime, you leaned back in your seat and contemplated his words. Marriage.

To Javier Peña. The soon-to-be-former _patrón_ of the _Los Pepes_ cartel.

Huh.

That idea didn’t seem so bad.

.

.

.

.

.

You parked your car in front of your building and chuckled when you saw José leaning against a lamppost a few spaces over. It wasn’t very inconspicuous of him, but you supposed that he didn’t really need to be. After all, you were now dating his boss. Him following you around was practically guaranteed at this point.

You stepped out of the car, locking it behind you, and José noticed you, approaching you.

_“Señora,”_ he addressed you, nodding his head respectfully, _“El patrón le está esperando. Venga conmigo, por favor.”_ **(Ma’am, the boss is expecting you. Come with me, please)**

You hummed and walked over to José’s car, sliding into the backseat when he held the door open for you. You addressed him once he entered the driver’s seat.

_“¿Todavia es tu tarea protegerme?”_ **(Is it still your task to protect me?)** you asked.

José twisted around to face you and gave you a small smile and polite nod.

_“Es un privilegio protegerle, señora, no es tarea,”_ **(It’s a privilege to protect you, ma’am, not a burden)** he responded, before turning on the ignition and driving out of the parking lot.

You leaned back in your seat and smirked to yourself. Ok yeah, you could get used to this.

You and José rode in relative silence at first, but then got to talking. He tried to make some small talk about your day, and you responded happily, figuring that if José was going to be on your permanent protection detail, you might as well get to know him. You learned that José was about ten years younger than Javier and had a wife and a five-year old daughter, both of whom he adored. José’s first encounter with Javier was a ridiculous one—he had been desperate for money when his wife found out she was pregnant. His job didn’t pay well, and he had taken to pick-pocketing foreign tourists and wealthy-looking businessmen for some extra cash. Javier had ended up being one of his targets. He nabbed Javier’s wallet while he was in a market, haggling with a vendor, and had nearly gotten away with it. But one of Javier’s _sicarios_ had noticed and ran after José, tackling him to the ground. The _sicario_ dragged José before Javier and instead of retaliating, Javier offered him a job, saying that anyone with the skills to nearly get away with pick-pocketing a _narco_ deserved a reward.

Since then, José’s life had changed completely. He and his family lived in a beautiful, three-bedroom apartment in one of the nicer neighborhoods of Bogotá. His daughter was able to go to school—something that José hadn’t been able to do until later in his life. From José’s perspective, he owed Javier a lot, and would do anything he asked, and most of the people who worked for Javier felt the same way.

You couldn’t help but feel a large swell of pride at hearing that. Javier was a lot of things, but he was a good man. The more time you spent with him, the more you were convinced of that.

It wasn’t long after that you arrived at Javier’s estate, and saw that the man himself was waiting for you just outside the front door. You stepped outside of the car, thanking José who nodded and drove off down the path, presumably to park it. Javier swept you into an embrace and kissed you deeply. After a moment, he broke the kiss and rested his chin on your head.

_“Querida,”_ he said, softly, _“¿Cómo estuvo tú día? Espero que bién.”_ **(How was your day? I hope it was ok)**

You sighed and relaxed further into him.

_“Mas o menos. Steve y su esposa van a regresar a Miami mañana,”_ **(More or less. Steve and his wife are returning to Miami tomorrow)** you replied.

Javier hummed at that.

_“Entonces, ¿los echarás de menos?”_ **(So, you will miss them?)** he asked.

You nodded.

_“Mucho.”_

_“Todo será bién, mi amor,”_ he responded, _“Cuándo hemos terminado con Cali, podemos visitarlos.”_ **(Everything will be ok, my love. When we have finished with Cali we can visit them)**

The fact that he said “we” was not lost on you at all. And you smiled thinking about it.

After a moment, Javier pulled away to look at you, resting his hands on your shoulders.

_“¿Tienes hambre? Marta cocinó sus favoritos,”_ **(Are you hungry? Marta made your favorites)** he asked.

You smiled.

“Starving.”

.

.

.

.

.

You sat at the dinner table with Javier trying not to inhale the _ajiaco_ Marta had made. The stuff was addicting, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear that she had taken the cocaine Javier cooked up in his labs and dunked in the pot just for you. If you could eat one thing for the rest of your life, it would be Marta’s _ajiaco_.

On the other side of the table, Javier set down his spoon and regarded you thoughtfully.

“You’re quiet tonight, _querida_ ,” he observed, and you raised an eyebrow.

“I’m normally quiet,” you said around your spoonful of _ajiaco_.

“Quieter than normal,” Javier remarked, “You’re thinking too hard. Is something bothering you?”

You exhaled and set down your own spoon.

“It’s not bothering me, more like—causing me to think.”

Javier huffed out a laugh at that.

“What is it?”

You let out a soft sigh. This was Javier, you could tell him anything. There couldn’t be any secrets between the two of you (not that this was _really_ a secret), otherwise this whole thing wouldn’t work.

“Steve said something funky to me today.”

Javier raised an eyebrow, silently encouraging you to continue.

“He was just joking around,” you laughed, “But he says that once we’re finished with Cali, he expects a wedding invitation.”

Javier raised another eyebrow, an amused expression crossing his face.

“Why? Do you not intend to give him one? That seems a little rude, _querida_. He is your close friend after all,” he said, a completely serious expression on his face.

If you had _ajiaco_ in your mouth, you would have choked on it.

“Well,” you said slowly, “That would heavily imply that a wedding would happen at some point in the future. Is that going to be the case?”

Javier, the bastard, shrugged and continued his game of not giving you a straight answer.

“We don’t have to have one if you don’t want to,” he said, “If you’d rather, we can just go to a courthouse.”

You could feel your jaw start to drop at his words, but you forced yourself to keep your mouth closed. You were an _adult_ after all.

“Uh...does this mean you want to marry me at some point?” you asked incredulously. It’s not that you were unhappy at the idea of marrying Javier. No, you were _ecstatic_. You just never thought it would be in the cards given the highly awkward legal situation you were both in.

Javier just gave you an amused smile, almost as if you were slow on the uptake (which to be fair, you were).

“Was I not obvious about this?” he asked, looking as though he was on the verge of laughing at you, “I would not have done what I did if I were not serious about spending my life with you. Marriage is just....the paperwork required so the government can’t unexpectedly deport you without good reason.”

You had absolutely no idea what to say to that, and just settled on staring at him. Fucking Steve. He was right, _again!_

“I never thought I would get married,” he said, quietly, “Until I met you, I had not found anyone that I would want to spend more than a few nights with, let alone my life. But with you—I must admit, I like the idea of calling you my wife. No other title is strong enough to describe what you mean to me.”

You took a shuddering breath, but still couldn’t find the ability to speak. Thankfully, you didn’t need to.

“If this were a perfect situation, I’d marry you tomorrow,” Javier said, nonchalantly, “But, we are in a bit of a predicament. I would like to make sure that the Colombian government holds up their end of the deal and doesn’t send the police to me as soon as Cali is destroyed. And if that were to happen, being married to an American citizen would absolutely make things worse. I’m not going to bring you down with me—we’ll wait until I’m sure that we’re completely out of this mess and can be left alone in peace.”

You took a sip of water, trying to soothe the dryness in your throat before speaking.

“Is this your way of proposing?” you asked, and Javier just smiled.

“If you’d like. I don’t have a ring though.”

“That’s ok, I probably wouldn’t be able to wear it for a while anyway,” you responded, feeling your voice come back.

“Is that your way of saying ‘yes,’ then?” he asked, eyes shining with mirth.

“Yes, Javier,” you responded, grinning, “Yes it is.”

.

.

.

.

.

“I was thinking,” he began, watching as you slid next to him in the bed.

“That’s dangerous,” you interrupted, jokingly. He merely rolled his eyes at your antics.

“You have this next week off before your new responsibilities start,” he stated.

“Right,” you confirmed. While you had to keep your apartment for appearance’s sake, you were planning to take the time to move the small amount of stuff you did have to Javier’s estate...and just spend the week doing nothing...but Javier of course.

“How much of Colombia have you seen in your time here?” he asked, and you frowned at the question, wondering what he was getting at.

“Other than that one time I went to Medellín and my latest excursion to the jungle...not much,” you confessed.

Javier smirked.

“I was thinking, if you’d let me, I’d like to show you more of it,” he said.

Your eyes lit up when you realized what he was asking you.

“What do you say, _querida_? Will you run away with me?”

You grinned so widely that your face started to hurt.

“ _God, yes._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote folks---for now! I really want to thank you guys once again for all of your support with this fic. I hope you enjoyed this last chapter. Don't worry, this is not the end of Narco!Javi. There will be a sequel, but it may not come out for a little while. 
> 
> Once again, thank you all so, so much <3


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